Crowley's Top Ten
by AllTheSnakes
Summary: We're at season 15 of Supernatural - the one when we find out our favorite demon is alive. How did it happen and how his story goes from there?
1. Queen of Rain

_This is supposed to happen in Season 15, in what I guess would be a good way of getting our favorite demon back._

 **Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 1: Queen of Rain**

 _In that big house there are fifty beds_ _  
_ _and one of them leads to your soul._ _  
_ _It's a bed of fear, a bed of threats,_ _  
_ _regrets and sheets so cold._

The moment Crowley woke up he knew there was something wrong.

His last memory was the – quite expected – painful fading consciousness caused by killing himself in front of Lucifer to help the Winchesters.

The pain had been just physical, with no regrets or hesitation. He had done something with no ulterior motives for the first time in his entire life, and he was resigned – no, he was _thrilled_ – to die for the right thing.

(Obviously, going in a blaze of glory and having a glimpse of Lucifer's confused face was nice, too.)

But, no matter how special the occasion it had been, he _was not supposed to_ wake up.

The last thing Crowley could imagine, then, was that he would open his eyes to some suburban ceiling in a darkened room.

He palmed the bed under him, inspecting the mediocre – not silk or satin, even if comfortable – bed linen and felt the pillow under his head.

He stayed still, purposely not breathing, making sure to discern any noises that could give him a hint of where he was and which menaces were lurking in the shadows.

There was just silence.

Something must be waiting to plunge at him.

Silence.

He gulped.

He heard the noises of his body, what was disconcerting.

He scowled.

It was always like this. You are ten steps ahead of your enemies, but the unexpected comes on you and the improbable and the unpredictable break even the most carefully crafted plans.

The silence persisted and got to his nerves.

 _Bollocks._

He turned his head to one side and the other, not able to see much.

Was it night? That would explain the hints of silver appearing through what seemed heavy curtains…

Or was he in some kind of dungeon?

Crowley decided to move. It would force whatever was watching him to show itself.

He sat on the bed.

Even with the room so darkened, his good vision permitted him to detect some patterns on the sheets.

Were they sigils? Would he be trapped in that bed?

There was a shadow by his right, and he extended an arm.

His hand found a bedside lamp, which he promptly turned on.

The powers of the dim light revealed the mysterious inscriptions.

 _Paris, Rome, Berlin_.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Some cheap sheets with foolishly pretentious writings.

Feeling more confident, he threw his legs off the bed and got up.

He looked down at himself to find out what he was wearing: his black shirt (not buttoned as straight as he would like), his silk black shorts and an outrageous pair of white cotton socks.

Crowley stepped on the woody floor, testing its resistance under his weight and prepared to detect any abnormality.

Nothing.

He advanced to some racks visible at the furthest wall.

There was something hanging there.

He suspected the truth about his predicament could be found in those racks.

He wondered what someone could have put there.

He had been a demon – King of the Crossroads, then the King of Hell, to be exact – and spent millennia, by the underworld's standard, torturing bodies and souls; there was not much that could impress him, and still someone had tried.

Crowley stood closer to the dark forms and stretched his arm to touch them.

His fingers found the textures of clothes.

 _His_ clothes – pants, tie and overcoat.

In a mix of relief and confusion, he turned around to see what else there was in the room.

A closed window behind – now he had proof of it – heavy curtains. When moved, they showed it was night in a calm street with light poles.

A closed door.

The bed where he had been.

Some shelves with books called his attention.

A quick inspection showed the titles were most of Literature.

Crowley rose an arm and opened his hand.

The book he chose moved slightly in the shelf, but didn't go to his palm as he had wished.

So, he still had powers, but they were not fully operational.

 _Interesting_.

He picked the book the traditional way and opened it. Maybe a _Divine Comedy_ cover was just disguising the real nature of this place.

He moved closer to the source of light and found out the books had text.

The expected text – the English translation of Dante's verses.

No mysterious symbols, no spells, no ancient tongues.

Crowley closed the book and threw a glare at the room.

It was all so trivial it was unnerving.

Where was the alternate apocalyptical universe?

Where were Moose and Squirrel?

Where was Feathers?

Had the Father of All Lies somehow won, and now was lurking in the shadows, enjoying Crowley's confusion?

What did this comfortable room, with its books and its silence, mean?

The sound of a car in the distance surprised him.

It was not an Impala.

Not _the_ Impala, for sure.

And it was just passing by. It had nothing to do with him or his predicament.

Crowley frowned at the idea that occurred to him.

 _What if he was in some kind of personal Heaven?_

What if, no matter how his adventure ended, whoever was in charge decided he deserved a reward for his self-sacrifice, and it came in form of an afterlife of plain decoration, some classic books, warm white socks and…

 _Solitude?_

A sudden grip of fear made him let go of the book, support himself on the shelves and reached for the bed to sit again.

It made sense.

His early memories were of hungriness, poverty and despair, with an early life of nightmares and beatings, constant pain and humiliation. When he called a crossroads demon to make the deal, he was just a frail and tormented human who asked for the only thing he associated with power – a bigger penis.

And things seemed to fall into place, for some time: he was confident and could do whatever he wanted. People were impressed. The same ones who mocked him for being just an _average man_ now had to admit he had somehow changed.

Mischief, lies, low blows and backstabbing became _his_ weapons, not means for others to attack and hurt him.

Each success gave him a new boost. He even lied and pretended to be bearable company for a little while, in order to guarantee a wealthy marriage and not even have to make much effort or use the penis he had gained in the deal for reasons not directly related to his own immediate satisfaction.

He soon became overly cruel and would beat anyone who didn't do what he wanted.

Just because he could.

Of course, he didn't know then how the evil deeds weighted in the human soul. His drinking habit seemed just one more thing that gave him pleasure, and he pretended it had nothing to do with that little voice who appeared now and then to speak some nonsense about solitude.

That voice scared him, and he couldn't be scared. The time for fear was over. He would never recoil again. He would never be hurt again.

Looking at what happened, it was clear Fergus McLeod died way before his ten years were due: no one who had known him when he was young – that cute child eager to please or the teen who sought affection desperately – could think it was the same person.

He died physically in a drunk stupor, alone in a dark alley.

He didn't even care when the Hellhounds came for him.

At least _something_ came for him.

The demon who tortured Fergus in the racks had the utter pleasure of explaining how dumb he had been, losing his humanity and becoming too numb to understand where his choices leaded him.

So, the job of that demon had been making him aware of what he had missed _._

His body was restored, for starters.

He felt healthy and strong for the first time in his entire existence. There was no pain or weakness. He was vibrant with energy.

Then he was shown his family – his mother, his son, his wife – as the caring and well-succeed people they could have been if had even a bit of sympathy from him.

Without his long suffered physical and emotional pains, his mind was clear. The intelligence that had appeared through his life just as flashes was finally free to develop itself. He was able to evaluate things under the light of rationality and everything made sense: the importance of being loving and loyal, the pleasures of real intimacy and trust, the possibilities of a life lived in generosity and companionship, with no fear of being betrayed at any moment.

He understood every misled action he had ever taken was motivated by fear. Fear of being alone, fear of being ridiculed, fear of being abandoned.

And suddenly he was reminded that those good things he had just comprehended were not real.

That the world was not fair.

That God had abandoned everyone.

That some people never even had a chance.

People like him – born to a life of poverty, abuse and ignorance.

The demon started bringing everything on again.

Fergus felt each disease and scar came to life.

The rotten liver.

The intestines and anus, never quite healed from hungriness, attacks and abusers since he was a child.

The everlasting pain on the rib broken in a fight for food.

The dislocated shoulder that was treated by a drunk doctor and ended up healing in the wrong place.

The rash on his penis for DSTs.

The always pained and full-of-something-disgusting-and-not-diagnosed lungs.

And then the demon brought back his worst emotional memories.

Of every time he saw and suffered injustices and could not do anything about it.

Of every person who had hurt him for petty reasons.

Of every time he had hated and beaten someone for any reason.

And as a bonus, he felt the emotional consequences of all that in the ones he attacked – the hatred, the despair, the frustration, the misery filling their souls because of him.

And that was when the demon started breaking him.

Yes – he had his mind freed and his body restored, and then his mind preserved and his body returned, just for them to be broken in a new way.

He saw the logic in it. He needed to taste something good in order to really understand that there was no justice in the world, and that the only rule which never failed was that when you have no power you'll be stepped on, sooner or later.

At some point he gave up being.

There was nothing left for him.

When he was off the rack to torture someone else, he was free of any empathy or goal. He did what was necessary to rip out yells and begging, but it didn't really matter to him.

Fate put him in the position of a crossroads demon, and a flame was ignited inside him.

If something like happiness existed, it was what he felt when he could be a business minded demon, and soon he was choosing a name – Crowley – and was shining as an accomplished dealer – cunning, observing, convincing, open minded and lacking any pity for humans who sold their souls for whatever they thought was worth it.

(He had done it and knew it was stupid. No one deserved forgiveness for such a choice.)

Crowley had powers to squish anyone who came into his path, but he didn't care enough to go in a rampage or get vengeance. He had immense pleasure in sealing deals, he had pleasure in the monetary gains and security they brought; he had some satisfaction in having the ability to partake anonymously in orgies; he even enjoyed to watch the Hellhounds doing their job.

Not worrying about a thing was the most liberating thing he could have, and he enjoyed that existence for a while – until he accepted the position as King and the Winchesters and Castiel came along to show him things were not so simple.

Crowley blinked at the darkened room.

His throat went dry.

His breathing accelerated in a surge of panic.

 _Yes, that's it._

He would stay there, locked away, in eternal suspension, never being hurt again, and never having the opportunity to hurt anyone.

He was so toxic to the world and to himself that the possibility of a personal Heaven for him was in solitude.

He closed his eyes.

It seemed the logic thing to happen.

Wasn't it tragic that he didn't deal well with loneliness? That he liked to chat and joke and interact? That he had urges of social relations quite often?

Was it his personal Hell, too?

The idea was horrifying.

He made an effort to calm down.

His powers would surely be back soon. He must be tired, for some reason. And, when he was totally restored, he would teleport out of his nightmare.

 _But to where?_

What if the street outside was an illusion, and there was a void outside those walls?

What if he was in The Empty?

What if The Empty was not empty, but a prison?

What if he should have been sleeping in The Empty, but he woke up to what some out-worldly mind recognized as a reward, and not the torture it would be to him?

He didn't even know how the parade in the alternate universe ended.

What if there was no Winchesters, anymore?

What if Lucifer was the new King of Hell?

What if Lucifer was the new King of Everything?

Maybe Lucifer had already destroyed everything and this place was the last resort for creatures like Crowley.

Maybe there was no place for him to go.

Maybe it was a trap and he was locked into his own mind.

Maybe there was nothing he could do.

He breathed deeply, hands on his face. He _had to_ calm down.

If there was one thing he had learned from Moose and Squirrel is that you never, ever give up.

He could be reading the situation wrong.

He lowered his hands and looked around.

There was no Craig, here. Any illusion meant to keep him forever would have it. It was basic information on him.

Thus, there must be another explanation for this conjuncture.

His near panic attack must be related to that damn human blood in his veins. It surely had left traces of feelings. Those were making him ridiculously nervous and irrational.

A click reached his overactive senses and Crowley got up more quickly than his dignity should permit – even if he guessed his dignity had already left, in fact, once his first attitude at waking up was not getting off the white socks.

The fact he reached out for an Italian Renascence book to defend himself from an unknown danger was a bonus for the ridiculousness of the moment.

The click had been the door of the room opening.

A female form appeared and stopped at the said door.

Preparing for the revelation, Crowley straightened his shoulders and made his sassiest pose – squinting, chin high, head a bit to the side.

(One more proof that dignity has left him – no long coat to complete the look stuffing his hands and looking nonchalantly menacing.)

The woman turned on the main lights.

She was clad in pajamas.

She mouthed _Sorry_ when he flinched.

His senses were in overdrive again, seizing the opportunity to study the room but not divert his gaze time enough for that… _creature_ to attack him by surprise.

She observed him for some time, as if leaving him to locate himself.

'Hi', she finally said, tentatively, 'I'm glad you're up'.

'Not for you, darling'.

'What?'

'What?'

She raised her brows.

Crowley blinked, confused. He could have been charming and give whoever – or _whatever_ – he was facing the classic false sense of security. However, the rudeness came out of him as a reflex.

Well, what was said was said. Doubting himself would just make everything worse.

So, he just pretended nothing had happened and faced her with that same suspicious expression again.

The woman pursed her lips.

Was she uncomfortable?

Maybe his 'keeper' was a human, after all.

Maybe she was the kind who recoiled when someone made a sexual joke, and from now on he had gained the upper hand.

Or maybe she was the kind who turned cold, and again he would have the advantage, once calling her on her coldness would prove his argument.

Or maybe she had powers and would punish him as soon as she decided the most perverse way.

Or maybe…

'That was juvenile'.

The woman stated it calmly, as if informing him.

It should sound eerie and menacing.

But no. It had been…

 _Soothing._

There was no judgement.

That was unexpected.

And _unexpected_ triggered Crowley's standard response.

He walked forward with a frown, 'I don't know who you're working for, but every second you keep me in this suburban room will turn into hours of me slicing you open', he closed the gap between them, 'I can see you're a minion being used to keep me in this dirt hole, but time passes differently in Hell, and I warn you that EVERY HOUR WILL FEEL LIKE A DECADE WHEN I START CUTTING OFF YOUR LIMBS'.

He finished as loud as he could and included grinding teeth and fiery eyes.

(The complete _King of Hell_ package.)

The woman tilted her head, 'Why are you yelling?'

He deflated.

'I have no idea what you're talking about, and yelling doesn't help your case, whatever it is', she shrugged, 'It just makes you sound like a lunatic, in fact'.

Crowley recovered, adjusting his not well buttoned black shirt, and bit the inside of his cheek, 'This is not a fair conversation'.

'You're right', was the immediate answer, 'I owe you an explanation'.

He pouted as if slightly offended by the fact she had not realized that earlier.

She noticed and her face contorted.

He realized she was trying not to smile.

He wondered what was so funny.

'You appeared at my doorstep last night', the woman cleared her throat, 'You were barely conscious, seemed scared and was speaking in a strange language, so I guessed you were a refugee or immigrant in hiding'.

She paused for a moment, as if waiting for him to say something.

He nodded slowly, indicating he was following her narrative but would not speak.

'I called a friend who is a nurse and she helped me to carry you inside and clean you up'.

It sounded trivial enough.

But she could be making everything up.

If she had been chosen by Lucifer, she had to master the art of lying.

Crowley decided to keep his guard up for the time being.

So, he just squinted.

'I was going to exit the room for her to clean you up, because she is the professional, but she insisted I helped her, and… well, you have nothing to be ashamed about, and I had to make sure you were all right', she opened her arms, 'I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable'.

He still didn't answer.

'My friend said you just had to rest, and we left you in my guest room. You slept the whole day'.

She looked around as if pondering on what else to say.

He remained still.

'My name is Sara', she added, 'We're in Wyoming', she thought a bit more, then shrugged, 'And I hope you're feeling well. I was getting worried'.

Now she was finished.

He knew because she made a gesture with her hands indicating it.

And she was the one waiting, hands joined in front of her.

Still, he didn't speak.

Crowley was not sure what to do or say. He still didn't feel safe enough to reveal anything.

He knew he was just moving his jaw as a munching cow, but that was what he managed at that point.

'Well, you don't have to tell me anything – not even your name', she resumed when he didn't give her any hint that the situation would change any soon, 'You're not a prisoner', she showed the door, then the racks, 'Your clothes are there. You can pick them and go, if that's what you want', she let her arms fall at her sides, 'You don't own me anything'.

It was impossible for him not to show at least a glimpse of surprise.

If her story was true, she had found a stranger at her doorstep and done everything in her reach to help him.

She even refrained from calling the Police – the sensible thing to do when strangers speaking in tongues appear in front of your house – because it occurred to her that making his apparition public could make things worse to him.

If someone had planned this situation, they seemed to know very well his human weaknesses.

Every word the… _woman_ in front of him said echoed in his need to feel cared for: she had done everything for him, not demanding information and leaving him free to choose if he wanted to stay or not, no strings attached.

The fact she waited patiently for his answer didn't help Crowley, once giving him time to think and decide how to proceed was something a real enemy would never do.

In fact, he was not used to be given time and space.

He didn't know what to do of it.

 _No explanations or favors demanded?_

 _How is this supposed to even work?_

He straightened himself, adjusting his shirt again.

She licked her lips, adopting a receptive stance, and he noticed it.

Her attitude shifted something inside him, and Crowley felt himself relax.

He wished he could erase his previous harsh attitude.

He felt his eyes soften and saw hers answering spontaneously.

That was unexpected.

And _unexpected_ brought _unexpected_ , this time.

'Fergus', he said, 'The name is Fergus'.


	2. The Killing Moon

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 2: The Killing Moon**

 _Under a blue moon I saw you  
So soon you'll take me  
Up in your arms  
Too late to beg you or cancel it  
Though I know it must be_

 _The killing time  
Unwillingly mine_

 _Fate  
Up against your will  
Through the thick and thin  
He will wait until  
You give yourself to him_

Previous night the woman – Sara – announced she was going to sleep and that they could talk in the morning, before she went to work.

Crowley detected a certain degree of surprise in her, but not much, when she found him on the sofa in the morning, clad in his full black suit.

'It seems I have an early bird in my house', she said with the joyful attitude humans show off when recently awake, 'Good morning, mystery man who calls himself Fergus'.

'Good morning', he answered with a carefully chosen cold voice and followed her to the kitchen, 'I'm more of an _angry_ _bird_ , in fact'.

 _It seems I'm not really capable of leaving the smart-assery aside._

She nodded, showing she got the game reference, and started the coffee-maker, 'I guess you had a hard time trying to sleep, considering the unusual circumstances'.

'Yes, it took me some time to get used to the poor decoration', he crunched his nose, 'But I've seen worse'.

'Well, I never paid much attention to the style of that room', she was clearly not offended, 'I see it more as extra space for my guilty pleasures than a living space'.

He smirked, 'I'm not much of a sleeper. Any guilty pleasure you want to show me will be welcomed'.

She tilted her head and, after a beat, turned to him, 'I meant my _books_ '.

Crowley pouted, not hiding real disappointment.

Things could get interesting if she accepted his advances. She was not a girl – she surely was over thirty, even with jovial pajamas and carefree attitude. Her demeanor hinted at him being authorized to be daring, and he was not exactly shy in that territory.

'I don't share info on what you seem to have in mind with someone I have known for such little time', she looked him up and down with an appreciative gaze, 'But you're not half bad to my taste, if that's what you want to know'.

 _Oh._

'Breakfast?', she walked past him to pick mugs, 'You must be famished'.

'I don't eat much'.

He spoke more softly than he intended, still dealing with the fact she had not seized the opportunity to pay back his mocking first words to her.

'And I can't consume salt, by the way', he added as an afterthought, his eyes roaming by the room in that old instinct to be always vigilant.

(He had already peeped through the windows and saw the small garden in front of the suburban house. He even dared to open one of the windows and felt the cold morning breeze.

But he still was not totally convinced about the reality of this.)

'Is it some religious thing?'

'What?'

'The salt. Does your religion forbid it?'

'No', he shrugged, still looking around suspiciously, 'It's a kind of…', he gestured vaguely, '…allergy'.

'I've never heard of it'.

He went to the nearest window to watch the street, 'You don't know everything, darling'.

'Don't'.

He noticed the difference in tone and turned to her, his eyes focused, 'Pardon?'

'Don't call me pet names', she clarified, 'We barely know each other, and it sounds patronizing', she glared, 'I don't do patronizing'.

Her body was tense, but she didn't look away.

He had hit a nerve.

Surprisingly, he didn't feel good about it.

So, he nodded, showing he had understood and would comply.

She relaxed, nodded back, sat at the table and started serving herself.

More intrigued by her than by whatever he could see outside, Crowley pulled a chair and sat in front of her.

'Are you sure?', she showed him the food before giving the first bite in her bread.

'Most of the contents on this table are poison to me'.

She tilted her head in understanding and started eating.

He kept observing her.

He was fascinated.

She was just a puny human – and a woman! – and, still, she was more collected and reasonable than most of the angels and demons he had met in his entire existence.

She closed any subjects without unnecessary fussy.

She didn't keep grudges.

She wasn't petty about details.

She was not paranoid about sexual innuendo.

If _level-headed_ existed, it would have the form of that woman, clad in a blouse and jeans, eating her breakfast and looking at her watch from time to time to make sure she was not late for work.

'You're staring'.

'You'll soon find out my standard procedure is glaring and squinting'.

'How charming', she squinted herself, 'Let's find out if it works to make friends'.

He was so amused he had to make a visible effort to not change his stance.

'You know what?', she announced, 'I'll tell you what's on my mind. Let's see if I can guess what is happening here'.

He pushed his hands in the pockets of his coat and sat back on the chair.

'You don't reveal personal information, barely speaks, wear black and stare sinisterly', she pointed at him with her mug, 'I have two hypotheses on what you are'.

She resumed eating.

If his eyes still could burn through someone, she would be dead by now, 'Care to humor me?'

'You may be connected to the mafia', she took a sip of her latte, 'If this is the case, you must have done something that put you in the black list. You escaped before they could catch you. Now, as a fugitive, you're suspicious of everyone. You see shooters in every corner. You think I'm going to kill you if someone offers me money enough. I bet you didn't sleep at all after I left you, last night, to make sure I wouldn't enter the room to stab you. And you won't eat what I offer, thinking it may be poisoned', she bit some bread and went on with her mouth half full, 'You won't speak much because you're sure this is a trap and, in the best scenario, we end up rolling on the floor fighting over a gun'.

He tilted his head maliciously at the last part.

She shrugged and ate calmly for some time.

Then, she resumed, 'The other possibility – the one I prefer, to be honest – is that you're an alien. That explains the few words, the reserved behavior, the strange menaces, the eerie changes in humor and the bizarre allergy. In this scenario you are always telling the truth, so you don't need to sleep or eat much, and salt, for some reason, is lethal to your extraterrestrial body', she rested her head on her hand, 'I like this one because it turns you into a cute and sincere ET. However, I guess you're here because you got lost and, once you've recovered, now will look for some way to contact the mothership and be gone'.

Crowley's mouth was slightly open.

'At the end, it doesn't matter which theory is right. What matters is what you choose to be', she went on, 'You can be the bad guy who kills me and take whatever you need from my house; or you can be the nice guy who asks whatever you need, thank me and go away'.

She finished her latte and played with a crumb of bread.

'Maybe even that is not going to be relevant', she added, 'Maybe you'll erase the last day from my memory before you get out of that door and disappear'.

She stayed looking him straight into the eyes.

She was serious, but there was a hint of malice in her stare.

The situation was so absurd she had decided to provoke him.

If she was chosen to fool him, she had been an excellent choice.

He enjoyed her.

'Your little speech was engaging', Crowley said, as serious and teasing as she had been, 'Until you sounded like a screenwriter brainstorming for some _the truth is out there_ cheapflick'.

'I'm going for _The Godfather_ and _Men in Black_. Better safe than sorry'.

She chuckled and started cleaning the table.

Crowley was shocked.

The sound of her chuckling should feel disconcerting, coming from a strangely calm woman who had crazy – and strangely accurate – theories about him.

However, it was…

 _Soothing._

Again.

She resumed their conversation, 'Is your allergy that bad?'

He blinked.

The conversation was still focused in his well-being.

 _This is brand new._

'I could touch some salt to show how it burns my skin, but I don't intend to', he got up from the chair, too, and was helping her to reach for things before he could analyze why he was doing it, 'The smell of burnt flesh may be too much for you so early in the morning'.

'That bad, then', she nodded, 'Thanks'.

'Yes. That bad', he tapped the table with his fingers, looking around again, 'It's quite a show when people try to use it against me'.

'Ouch', she frowned, 'Your friends use it as a prank?'

'I don't have-', his eyes settled on hers and he rephrased, 'Just enemies would do it'.

'Better', she sipped some water to take a pill, 'No one deserves to endure stupid people who thinks being a friend is having authorization to make a fool of who trusts you'.

She spoke and leaned on her counter, looking at him.

Crowley sustained her stare in silence for some moments, but an urge to understand what was going on – and his eternal urge for verbal communication – made him speak, 'Now _you_ are staring'.

'Sorry', she smiled, 'I was just taking my time appreciating this'.

'What are you referring to, exactly? The morning sun through the windows? Your breakfast? My charming presence? The intriguing conversation? This ravishing looks?'

'Everything about being here with you, now that you're talking to me'.

He frowned, 'People usually complain about it'.

'That you talk?'

'I was told I talk too much'.

'Really?', she raised her brows, 'I like it'.

'You may regret it, darl-', he cleared his throat, to correct himself, 'Sara'.

She grinned, grateful he had refrained from the pet name.

He was surprised at the good sensation brought up by saying her name instead of an empty nickname and how it illuminated her face.

Birds sang.

Outside, obviously.

But Crowley felt like somehow they echoed in him.

 _Argh._

 _Feelings._

He made a face and sneered at the window, 'Oh, shut up, you'.

Her face brightened in a new way and she laughed, 'Hey, let the beasts be!'

He smiled.

The domestic scene was doing things to him.

'I'm glad you enjoy my witty conversation…', he said, trying to take the lead of the situation again and already realizing he may be losing it in the pleasure of engaging in it with a willing and clever partner.

She made a cute crunched nose at him.

 _Bollocks._

'…because you were right when you guessed I was in trouble'.

'Really?'

'I have nowhere to go, at the moment. I'm probably in some black list, as you mentioned. Wanted by powerful people'.

He spoke and regretted it.

 _How very human of me, giving so much information._

'Then it was a good thing that I didn't call the Police, Lone Ranger?'

Incredibly, the conversation was still about _his_ wellbeing.

He wondered for how long it would stay like that.

'The Police has nothing against me'.

'How is it that foreign mafia guy – or wanted alien – has no fear of the Law?'

'I'm that good at my job', he permitted himself a smirk, 'At least, I was'.

'That's enough for me, then', she gave him a smile, 'You tell more when you're comfortable'.

He nodded, then resumed the light conversation from before, 'I thought pet names were forbidden, Miss Sara'.

' _Lone Ranger_ was not a pet name', she was back in movement, 'It was a reference'.

He rolled his eyes.

She gave out a small pearly laugh while turning to the sink to wash her mug.

Crowley blinked.

That was…

… a _beautiful_ sound.

He stayed there, mesmerized, until she finished her task.

'I'll leave you my computer', she announced while drying her hands.

Crowley was shocked, 'You will?'

'You must have things to do. Check wanted lists, contact the mothership', she explained, moving out of the kitchen, 'I already took the archives I need today at work. You can access the internet and organize your life while I'm out'.

He followed her to the interior of the house, 'That's very nice of you'.

'It wouldn't make sense if I had taken care of you and now made it harder for you to get up by yourself. There it is', she stopped by her bedroom door and showed him the computer and charger on the bed, 'Just refrain from any illegal activity. I have a name in the community', she pondered for a moment, and added, 'I have an anti-virus installed. So, some porn is allowed'.

He had already approached the bed, but did a double take at her words.

'I'll brush my teeth'.

She disappeared and Crowley sat on the bed.

He couldn't bring himself to take the computer and leave. His eyes kept wandering by the room.

She was surprising. He found himself eager to find out more about her.

Her bedroom was decorated in better taste than the room where he woke up: Sara had chosen to be surrounded by red wood with touches of black and white, here and there a touch of yellow.

She seemed to be a colorful person who knew how to show it through elegant patterns.

He touched the bed linen, softer than the one in the guest room.

So, she had spoken the truth: the spot for sex would be here, not there.

Or in the immense sofa in her living room.

Or in the comfortable armchair he had been occupying for the most part of the night.

Crowley imagined how these sheets would feel against his skin.

He inclined to feel her scent in the pillow.

It was good. Some tasteful skin product and something strong that was totally _her_.

He was assaulted by the image of Sara entering the room to find him naked and willing in her bed.

She would certainly be impressed by his nakedness.

She would decide work could wait.

He wondered how her skin would feel against his.

Her attitude promised a woman who said shamelessly what she enjoyed in bed; however, she said she doesn't partake that quickly things about her intimacy; however, she had stated she found him attractive.

It was refreshing to be close to someone like her – a mix of freedom and carefulness; recklessness and balance.

Crowley straightened and looked around again.

He could seduce her, enjoy this comfort for as much time it pleases him, then just kill her and disappear.

Could he?

 _Really?_

Sara came back and picked a purse and a big bag by a nearby chair.

He stared at her.

No, he couldn't.

 _Not yet._

She must have noticed his nerves.

She stopped in front of him, 'Are you ok?'

 _Say something witty. Take her focus off you and your possible intentions._

He got up, 'Your room is quite nice'.

 _Bollocks, again._

She was standing in front of him.

'I don't know what to say', she spoke, a small smile forming in her lips, 'Thank you, I suppose. And sorry, because the guest room is not so good'.

He gulped down.

Some time ago he could smite her and take this place all to himself.

Some time ago he would mock her until she confronted him and made even more enjoyable when he killed her and threw himself in that comfortable bed while her lifeless body stayed contorted on the floor.

'Wait', she frowned, suddenly, 'Was that a pick up line? Sorry, I'm not good at it'.

Crowley blinked, 'To be completely sincere', he turned, picked the computer and turned back to her, 'I'm not sure'.

'Ok', she shrugged, 'Let's go'.

He didn't have time to ponder on her nonchalance, because she kept speaking while they walked to the main room, 'The computer is unlocked and the wi-fi will connect automatically', she opened her purse to check on her things, 'It's a ten-minute drive to work. My turn ends around 5', she stopped by the door, 'Questions?'

'Don't think so', Crowley counted on his fingers, 'Free access to internet, including _some_ porn; no hacking permitted; you're back in…', he inclined forward to look at her watch, '…nine hours', he straightened again, 'I'm good'.

'To lock the door you just have to close it', she opened the front door and stepped out, 'Should I bring free-salt food or this is goodbye?'

The question had been asked without any difference in tone from the rest, but she looked into his eyes and he knew she cared for the answer.

That deep stare was revolving the darkest muds inside him. He had no idea what it was unveiling – he just knew he couldn't ignore it.

'Bring the food', he spoke softly, 'Even if I find out I'm still king somewhere, I'll wait for you', he smiled, 'I'm curious to find out what you plan to feed me'.

She grinned, 'See you later, Fergus'.

Crowley felt like he had been slapped by her joy.

Slapped in the soul, if something like that existed.

It didn't hurt; it made everything tremble and change, but it didn't hurt at all.

She turned away from him and walked down the steps.

She opened the small gate to the left, that must lead to the garage, and disappeared.

He stayed at the door.

The car appeared some moments later.

She waved at him before pulling up.

Crowley waved back, murmuring a quite astonished ' _See you, Sara_ '.


	3. The best you can do

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 3: The best you can do**

 _Once in your life you'll find her_

 _Someone who turns your heart around_

 _And next thing you know_

 _You're closin' down the town_

 _Wake up and she's still with you_

 _Even though you left her way across town_

 _You're wondering to yourself_

' _Hey, what've I found?'_

It was almost five and a half when Crowley heard the car.

He was surprised he had lost track of time.

The front door opened and closed, and by the time between one thing and the other, he guessed Sara was composing herself after seeing a dozen empty boxes in her living room.

'Hey, mystery man who calls himself Fergus', he smiled at the already familiar sounding line, 'Where art thou?'

'In the manor's now darkest corner', he grinned, 'Come over!'

She reached the guest room obviously eager to see what he had done while she was away, and stopped just before the door, her mouth open in shock.

Yes, he had redecorated everything.

There were new curtains, new bed linen, more black clothes hanging from a new wardrobe and a stylish thing with shelves he had found in a web catalogue and was smitten with at first glance.

Crowley had chosen everything in red wood, black and white (with black obviously having the upper hand) to mirror her own bedroom.

He realized he wanted to be surrounded by things similar to those she liked. However, he had not chosen any colorful things for the room, what proved any influence she may had over him was limited to some sudden bolts of lust. It meant that, even if he didn't quite understand his actions, there was no reason to think too much about them.

'So?' Crowley opened his arms to exhibit the room with a proud smirk.

She risked a glance from the spot just outside the room, 'It reminds me of my house…'

He nodded, glad she had noticed the similarities.

She frowned at him, 'But is it still my house?'

He frowned back, his demeanor immediately changing for worse, 'Asking permission to enter would be a graceful gesture, but it's not really necessary'.

She rolled her eyes and stepped inside, 'What I meant is that I don't recognize much'.

He scrunched his nose, 'I can see you're not used to elegance'.

'Hey, no need to get defensive'.

He scowled.

Sara crossed her arms, 'I'm just surprised'.

'I am a man of fancy tastes', he caressed his beard, looking at his properties.

'I suppose you can pay for that, Material Girl'.

'Obviously', he was almost offended by the notion that he couldn't, 'Thanks to your computer, I had access to my bank accounts, and deliver services are quite eager to come when you have money enough', he pointed at a box on the bed, 'By the way, I've bought my own computer. Yours is already in your room'.

(He decided not to mention he had stayed in her bedroom more time than expected, sniffing her clothes and exploring her things.

And had found some very interesting things.

He felt safer having info that could be used in his favor when necessary.)

'Well thought', she nodded.

He smirked maliciously at her praising the most dangerous aspect of his personality.

She kept looking around speculatively, a slight frown in her face.

His spirits fell suddenly.

Crowley still didn't deal well with feelings. Since Sam had almost completed the third trial, his oldest memories – the ones related to his previous reincarnations, when he was somehow linked to an evil spirit – had been flickering out and opening spots for the most recent ones – the ones related to his life as Fergus McLeod and his existence as Crowley.

The strongest change it caused was the fact he sometimes was taken by emotional reactions he had no repertoire to understand.

That bad thing in his stomach seemed to be more disappointment than annoyance at her lack of enthusiasm, and he needed to figure out quickly why.

He had expected her to be impressed by his display of wealth. Being a teacher was not living in poverty, but she certainly was not used to the high standards he could provide. He had imagined her eager to touch everything, feel textures, find out prices, asks all the questions her curious mind would surely formulate.

He had expected her to look at him in a new way.

She was a woman. Women get hooked on those things.

People had sold their souls for much less than this stupid overnight makeover.

However, there she was, looking around the room, bothered.

Sara, a woman full of surprises, was disturbed when surprised?

How incoherent of her.

 _Humans._

'Maybe being an alien means you don't know, but there are some rituals…', she resumed speaking, advancing to take a closer look at the clothes in the rack.

He hadn't expected her to be interested in those, specifically.

(And he surely hadn't expected her to mention _rituals_.)

'Regarding what?'

'You're supposed to state clearly what you intend with big gestures'.

Crowley was genuinely taken aback, 'What do you think this could mean?'

'Redecorating?', she went to the curtains to move them with her fingertips.

' _This_ redecorating', he hissed.

'How am I supposed to know, if we barely know each other?', she shrugged, 'That you plan on staying for an extended period of time?'

He was ready to say _Obviously_ , but she went to the new king-sized bed and rested her hand on the red wood of the headboard.

She bit her lower lip, seemingly choosing her next words carefully, and Crowley found himself confused over the tension of not knowing what was coming next and the sudden arousal at her gestures.

She had bit her lip and was touching his red wood.

(No, he was not exactly _elegant_ when his thoughts formed words around sex.)

'But it could be a parting gift, too', she spoke, 'That would explain why it's so alike my own room', she sat on the bed, crossed her legs and faced him, 'This could be about leaving or staying'.

Crowley's body tensed to a new level.

Sara was not bothered by what he had done; she just wanted to understand his reasons, and it should be a good thing. However, he had asked himself what it meant that he had selected every item of that room pondering on what she would think of it.

Now he wished he had articulated those thoughts earlier, when he was by himself and had the time and the space to dissect, analyze and plan ahead, not now, when she was sitting on his bed like he had sat on hers in the morning, what meant he would be able to feel her scent even after she left, and his brain still was not working properly because she had desired to touch his clothes and the wood.

Crowley breathed deeply to clear his head.

Sara smirked, and he guessed she had read his reaction as an annoyed sigh.

She supported her palms on the bed, slightly behind her.

It exposed her body.

She was just getting comfortable, not teasing him.

Crowley imagined himself kneeling between her legs, forcing her to lie down and ripping off that jeans.

Fergus gulped down and reminded himself that he had been in that position of waiting for explanations, before, and it could be unnerving if it took too long.

 _I'm turning empathetic._

 _Bollocks._

Well, there was always a mid-term.

He opened his arms as if holding the sides of a skirt and did a curtsey, 'Miss Sara, owner of this residence…'

Her pearly laugh filled the room.

Strangely, Crowley wished his mother could see that scene. She would be proud of him.

'… am I permitted to choose the decorations of this room of mine, when I intend on staying for a yet not stablished period of time, for the sake of my comfort and peace of mind?'

'He rhymes!', the woman on the bed put a hand over her heart.

He straightened with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sara got up and walked until they stood face to face.

She was serious, and he mirrored her.

'So… You're staying'.

Crowley tensed again.

She seemed to like being close to him, if the times she had done it purposely were a good measure. She didn't fear him. She was not even wary.

And he enjoyed it, for some reason.

'It would be beneficial to keep a low profile, and I'd like to stay here with you'.

That formulation was not the most detached he could have chosen.

'I thought you were too suspicious of me to risk staying'.

'I'm more suspicious of you than ever'.

He realized he wanted to speak to her as clearly and sincerely as possible.

She was a potentially dangerous beast, able to pull off anything from him.

He realized he enjoyed it as much as her carelessness.

'Really?', she put her hands on her hips, 'Care to explain?'

He decided to let things flow, 'This situation has all the elements of a trap'.

'That's intriguing'.

' _You_ are'.

'Same goes for you, as I have already said'.

'And still I take it you hope I explain myself'.

She gave a good naturedly slap on his chest, 'You betcha!'

He looked down at the spot she had hit and raised a brow, 'Have you made a 90's TV show crash course on how to touch a man without being too obvious about it?'

'You just found out another of my guilty pleasures', she crossed her arms, 'And no, I'm not clarifying more than that'.

He grinned, 'That's part of it'.

'What?'

'You're blunt and sincere in a _cutesy_ way', he scrunched his nose, 'It makes you an irresistible company for the kinds of me', he added quickly, 'And no, I'm not clarifying more than that'.

'Yes, I can be an annoying know-it-all', she joined her hands in front of her and baited her lashes, 'But don't you ever forget you find me _cutesy_ '.

He couldn't help but laugh, 'See? I need to be suspicious'.

'Just because I'm lovely?'

'Because Fate deposited me at the door of the loveliest person on Earth', he frowned, 'I don't deserve it'.

 _Oyoyoyoyoy._

Crowley couldn't believe he had said that.

'Wow', she got serious, 'If that was intended as a praise, it didn't quite work', she tilted her head, 'Not sure if you think too much of me or too low of you, and both are not ok'.

'We have already stablished I'm not good with some social rituals'.

'I should get used to off handed compliments, then?'

He made a _You've got it_ gesture.

She stayed observing him for some time.

He almost felt self-conscious.

(It certainly was because he had done a daring choice in attire and she hadn't still commented on it.)

'I'm glad you're staying, Fergus', she threw him a hard stare, 'But self-derogatory comments are not approved here'.

Crowley was, for the hundredth time, surprised at how quick she pushed everything aside but what was right to the point.

'By the way', she raised a finger, 'If you're staying, we must set some terms'.

His whole demeanor brightened in excitation, 'You want a deal?'

'Yes'.

'I'm totally into deals!', he felt himself inflate with confidence and enthusiasm. Finally, they were moving into his territory, 'Hit me, darl- I mean…'

He looked for a way to rephrase but she made a gesture for him not to mind and resumed speaking, 'I have some papers to work on…'

Her gestures had turned suddenly businesslike, and he fought a warmth in his chest at the possibility that they were more alike than both suspected.

' _Papers_?', his curiosity poured into his voice, 'As in _contracts_?'

'As in _student works_ ', she corrected, 'I'm a teacher'.

He deflated, 'You spend your days taming brats?'

'Someone has to educate people or they'll end up like you, who can't appreciate cotton socks'.

He scoffed at her pointing to his brand new black silken socks.

'Coincidently, the deal I want to settle is related to the dress code in this house'.

'Pardon?'

'It's hard work to read and point out what must be improved in Literature essays', she explained, 'The same goes for creating engaging grammar exercises', she gave him the once-over, 'You can't dress like that all the time'.

He looked down at himself.

'You have beautiful legs and I don't mind if you decide to walk around with no pants. _I_ walk around with no pants when I feel like it', the businesslike tone was still on, 'But I hope you have enough sense to refrain from it when I need focus; in exchange, I compromise in doing the same while we don't have enough intimacy for such things'.

Crowley blinked.

Yes, he had chosen to work on his new room just in silken shorts. It had been a matter of preserving his label plants, mainly, but he wanted to know how she would react, too.

Now he had his answer: she was not offended or scandalized he was bare legged. Quite the contrary, in fact – she had hinted at the possibility of her doing the same.

It was unexpected.

This time, _unexpected_ brought out the confidence in him.

'Well', he smirked, 'You're welcome'.

'You too', she chuckled, sending shivers through him.

They smiled at each other.

'Do we have a deal?', she asked, 'No pants just when common sense and respect for the other's peace of mind indicates?'

Crowley opened his mouth to say he was not known for following common sense and believed the same applied to her, but he couldn't.

He was fighting the image of her in his arms, sealing the deal as demons do – with a kiss.

Didn't he want to kiss her? Why not seize the opportunity? Why did this deal feel different from the ones he had ever made?

'I hope you intend on leading me in a tour', Sara gestured around, breaking the moment, and taking his silence as agreement, 'I don't want to risk losing myself inside my own home'.

'With pleasure', he recovered and answered chivalrously, 'Permit me to show you my dominions, Mistress'.

'I like _mistress_ ', she said, 'But _your dominions_?', she rolled her eyes good naturedly, 'You wish'.

xxx

Some hours later, when the boxes were disposed, they sat at her dining table to have tea.

Getting to that point had been a battle of wills, once Crowley wanted Sara to state clearly that she had adored every single item he had bought, that they went perfectly with the decoration of her house and that she was not creeped out – not even a bit – at the quantity of things he had been able to buy and have delivered in such a small amount of time.

(She agreed to say what he asked, but with such a face and tone of voice he couldn't decide if she was being deadly serious or mocking him mercilessly.

It was annoying and delicious.)

'You know I was joking, right?', Sara spoke while pulling a chair to rest her feet on, 'You can walk around without pants anytime'.

'I'm glad you're starting to enjoy real beauty'.

'I have a very well-developed aesthetic sensibility, thank you very much', she pulled off her red socks.

'No need for long words, _teacher_ '.

She scoffed, 'I want to make sure we have a fair trade, so I'll be free to dispense my own clothes now and then'.

His eyes followed her left hand massaging her feet, 'What kind of point are you trying to make?'

'None', she realized what he was referring to, 'Is this an attack at your sensibilities?'

'We were discussing dress code and now you're exhibiting your feet'.

'Social convention says nakedness of certain parts of the body is taboo', she shrugged, 'And taboos are related to epoch and location'.

'Yes. In XVIth century Scotland a lady would never show so much flesh'.

'Isn't it lucky we're not there?'

'Yes, it is', he gave a small smile at the fact that she didn't know how wholeheartedly he agreed.

'You'll find out I don't care much for social conventions. I even believe that being a teacher is, in part, helping people to think for themselves and not accept every rule just because it's there'.

Crowley looked at her intensely.

Team Free Will would love her.

He sipped his tea to hide he was getting uncomfortable.

He frowned, trying to understand what that strange feeling was.

He looked around at her kitchen – small but cozy.

Oh, that was it.

 _I feel safe._

He missed the Winchesters by a certain degree, and he missed his demonic routines by a certain degree, but this sensation was powerful.

He looked at the woman before him – clever, cultured and easygoing – with her hand on a foot, the red socks on the floor, her human focus on the physical realm and her human capacity to see the poetry of the small things.

It occurred to him she was the most attractive woman he had ever spent time with.

Women were usually very conscious of their seductiveness – and used sex as a weapon – or not seductive at all. Sara was attractive by behaving in her own way.

He wondered if she knew her power. He suspected she didn't care enough to think about it.

She groaned and relaxed, letting go of the foot and resting against the back of her chair.

'You had a long day', he stated, to engage her in a new round of conversation.

'You were not the only one redecorating'.

'You have another guest in another house?', he sat straighter, 'And I thought I was your only one…'

She chuckled, 'The whole school is preparing for a thematic event', she saw him frown and raised a hand, 'It's not Halloween. Your black clothes are safe'.

'My Armani suits would bleed if they ever get close to children', he scoffed, 'Were the pests vampires or not'.

'Thank you for the image of children with long fangs wandering around wearing expensive bloodied black clothes'.

He raised his tea-cup (he had bought a decent set during the day) in a mocking toast, 'You can always count on me to unveil the dark side of things'.

She raised her mug (she refused to use a tea-cup for the time being) to answer to the toast, sipped and put it again on the table, in order to have her hands free and stretch her back and arms.

She even rolled her shoulders, what showed off her breasts.

Crowley adjusted himself in his pants.

He didn't remember being so affected by a being who was not throwing themselves at him or grumbling furious menaces.

 _And she is just a human!_

'Speaking of a dark side', she resumed the conversation, 'You've bought furniture, decoration, new clothes for you, _socks_ , shoes, even food – the tea is awesome, by the way – and I wonder if now I should be worried'.

'And why would that be?'

'Can't your enemies track you down through purchases on the internet?'

(And there she went, bringing his well-being up as if it was a priority.)

'I suppose my enemies and my allies think I'm dead, or I wouldn't even have reached your doorsteps'.

She was surprised, 'You faked your own death to escape the wanted list?'

'Not exactly…', he looked for the words.

At his hesitation, she raised her hands, 'Sorry. I said you didn't have to tell and now I'm asking'.

 _As Dean Winchester would say…_

 _She is awesome._

'I know as much as you do, in what concerns that matter: I remember dying; next thing, I was waking up in your guest room'.

She nodded, showing she understood.

'And isn't the FBI knocking on my door?', she insisted carefully, 'I ask just to be on the safe side. If they do, we must have a cover story'.

It didn't go unnoticed to him that she had agreed with a cover story, even not knowing what he could be wanted for.

 _Awesome._

It was rare he had someone else in such high regard.

She was a dangerous beast, really.

The good thing was that Crowley was not worried at all about calling unwanted attention. He had used some of his different identities, acquired in the last years through reasonably legal ways – one must be prepared when he is supposed to live for hundreds of years.

Unfortunately, there was no way he could explain those things to her, under the circumstances.

So, he chose to divert from the subject, 'I used to have friends in the FBI…'

'My _Men in Black_ theory is getting more formidable every day'.

'I even had to pretend I was an agent, once'.

'You're kidding!'

Her obvious interest – shining eyes and all – made him lick his lips in pleasure of having a tale to tell, 'I was paired with a very unexperienced guy in a mission to retrieve information for the FBI', he rested his tea-cup on the table, 'He had to make up fake names, wanted something along the lines of surnames of musicians, because he had seen other agents do it, and I mockingly suggested Agent Beyoncé and Agent Jay-Z', he smiled fondly, 'And he went for it'.

He surprised himself to find out he was glad to relive his partnership with Castiel.

'I can't believe it!', Sara opened her mouth in gleeful shock, 'People fell for it?'

'The door was slammed on our faces, obviously', he smirked, 'I had to use my own methods of breaking and entering'.

Her pearly laugh made its appearance, resonating through the room.

Resonating through him.

Crowley sighed, 'Why the white socks?'

 _My guard is down for one second and this is the kind of question that pours out…_

She sipped her tea, 'The ones I put in you?'

'The ones you _dared_ put in my feet, even when you could clearly see that was not my style'.

She looked properly chastised, 'My friend said there was nothing we could do for you –no invisible injuries, vitals ok. She said we had to wait, that you probably just needed to rest', Sara put the now empty mug on the table, 'I wanted to make you as comfortable as possible, and the only thing that occurred to me was to keep your feet warm'.

He glanced at her feet on the chair, 'That's what works with you?'

'Yeah', she smiled shily, 'Warm feet are one of guilty pleasures'.

Crowley didn't know what to say.

He was processing the fact she seemed to consider warm feet an almost erotic pleasure, and that she was a truly empathetic person – one who naturally did to others what she wished they would do to her.

It was disgustingly Christian, and still he couldn't bring himself to despise her for it.

He couldn't even bring himself to undo the cuteness of the moment.

Why don't reach out, touch her bare feet with his hot hands and woke up the lust in her eyes?

No.

He felt like it would be wrong.

And not for some ill-placed feeling that she was too innocent to be touched.

It was because…

Well, he had no idea why.

'I see what you mean', he spoke, after clearing his throat, 'However, _those_ socks were a lot bigger than your feet', he squinted, 'Besides, you seem to prefer colorful ones'.

'You're right, Sherlock. Those were not mine'.

'So?', he pressed on, 'Whose were they?'

It was her time to smile sadly, 'They belonged to my ex-boyfriend'.

He raised his brows, surprised, 'Why do you keep them? Witchery?'

He had asked seriously, but she didn't notice, 'I've found them among a bunch of clothes I washed. I threw them in a shelf. I could have donated them, but I had nothing of mine at hand, and donating just a pair of white cotton socks was too much work', she threw him a teasing glance, 'Even if they end up exposing myself as a fashion _faux-pas_ '.

He grinned.

'I didn't care enough to make them disappear'.

Crowley leaned forward, 'Your break up is recent, I presume'.

'Quite'.

'Does it still bother you?'

'It was me who ended it', she turned serious, 'I would have not done it if I had any doubts'.

He nodded, 'What did he do to you?'

She hesitated.

'If you don't want to talk about it, I understand'.

 _From where did it come? Of course I don't understand._

 _I want to know what takes for her to end a relationship._

 _Now._

'I didn't talk about it to anyone, yet', she answered, 'My friends didn't ask me to explain, so I didn't have to verbalize what happened'.

He waited.

It was clear she would tell him, and he could wait forever.

She put one extended leg over the other to get comfortable.

He seized the opportunity to observe her and try to find any clue of the things going through her mind on that ex-boyfriend.

For future personal use.

In blackmail and manipulation, for example.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he had been easily attracted to tall people, and that was the same height of his vessel. Having sex with people taller than him gave Crowley a sense of power – some of his best jokes on Moose had been cheap pick-up lines –, but his instincts told him he would enjoy Sara exactly because she transmitted a sense of _inner_ power.

He liked it. He always looked for vessels similar to his original body exactly because he loved being unassuming and mistreated, just to reveal unexpected power.

He wondered if she liked to be in charge.

Being a teacher, she probably enjoyed it.

His mind conjured images of her being authoritative with him, and he felt a brand new pleasure in the idea of submitting.

There was something about her that made him want to put himself in her hands.

It was like being in the masochist side of a BDSM tryst: it just works because you trust the person in control. You know they will respect your limits. The moment you say the safe word is game over.

He liked BDSM as much as he liked reapers and crossroads deals for the same reason – integrity is what made the business work.

The sudden image of Sara doing things to him while he was contained by some bounding magic made him cross his legs to hide his insistent semi-hardness.

His movements urged her to speak.

'He was a very nice guy, and quite handsome, for starters', she began her tale, 'Once I never felt passional love – that sugary soulmates thing depicted in movies – I settled for the companionship we had', she leaned her head, 'Don't take me wrong, I'm far from a cynical person. But I've read enough Literature to know _that_ love is just one kind of love, called _romantic_ , and I don't believe everyone should set it as a life goal'.

So, she was not passional. Not one who would throw off her clothes in raw desire or claw her eyes off for a lover who abandoned her.

She could be the perfect dominatrix, if she was into it.

She played with her hair, 'The sex was just enough for me not to die of boredom, but he was loyal and we shared a lot. It was kind of _best friends with benefits_ situation'.

Crowley was totally focused on her.

It seemed a quite nice arrangement.

 _What could have the fool done?_

'Some months ago I was offered a position out of the city. It would give me relative power in the educational system of the district'.

His ears perked: she was offered power.

He wanted to find out how she dealt with it.

'I teach 13 year-olds', she straightened in sudden enthusiasm, 'They are a lot of work. They're in the exact spot where your body starts to change, you are seen as a child for some things and treated as a teen for others, and it's annoying and confusing', it was her time to lean forward, 'But I make their eyes shine. I tell them Hamlet's problem was that he realized he can't run from responsibility – that choosing to do something is a choice, choosing not to do is a choice, too, and it means as long as you're alive you make a difference', she smiled dreamingly, 'You must see their faces when I tell them everybody in _Romeo and Juliet_ believed they were doing the right thing, every action made things worse, and it means that sometimes even the best intentions lead to tragedy'.

She taught children that the world didn't make sense, that life may backstab you no matter what you did and that good intentions could, indeed, pave the road to Hell.

He liked that.

'I don't have children and don't really care if one day I come to have them. But I want to be there to tell my students that it's ok to make mistakes, that humans do it all the time, and that life is worth living because we care and try again'.

So, she taught children that, even if the universe is pure chaos and madness, life was meaningful.

That _existence_ is meaningful.

He liked that, too.

For some reason.

'I refused the position. It was not easy, but I knew what I wanted', she pursed her lips, 'When I told William he was shocked'.

Crowley noticed the frown in her forehead.

He was eager to understand where it was going.

'He didn't even find what to say when I told him', she spoke in a low tone, 'He was never the same again. He would barely talk to me. Something was wrong, he didn't want to talk about it, and it poisoned every time we were together', she looked at Crowley, 'One day I told him I wanted the truth or we were over. He managed to call me from hypocrite to coward and back multiple times, in the most patronizing voice possible and without using the real words', she pursed her lips at the memory, 'It was impressive', she shrugged, 'Unfortunately, I had to take my words back – he had told me the truth, but still, we were over'.

There were some moments of silence after she ended her story.

Crowley broke it with a sincere declaration, 'I would say he was the coward and hypocrite in the room'.

Sara smiled, 'Does it mean you don't agree with him?'

'I could never agree with a man who leaves white cotton socks as a memento for his ex-girlfriend'.

Sara chuckled, 'At least they had some use'.

'Yes. They offended my fashion sense'.

They exchanged grins and fell into the classic comfortable silence that follows understandings.

However, the silence didn't last much, once Crowley was Crowley – he had an urge to share how he related to her tale.

'I always wanted power, since I remember being myself', he said, carefully, 'Power was the only thing that could prevent me from being abused'.

She stayed silent, listening to him.

'At a certain point in my existence I found a business position in which I was brilliant. I was the best of my trade. Soon there were not many above me, and none in my specialty'.

He felt immense pleasure in reliving, for some moments, the trajectory that took him from a mere crossroads demon to King of the Crossroads.

'However, the highest position of all firm went vacant, I was sent to negotiate with the next in line, was at the right place at the right time and it was suddenly offered to me', the moment flashed before his eyes, 'I hesitated, not sure I wanted to change what was going so well. But it just lasted until the position was offered to the next person'.

Now he had no reason to be proud.

'I fought for self-preservation since forever. I couldn't let the opportunity to be at the top of the food chain escape', his eyes wandered the room, 'That was my chance. Leaving it to some fool who happened to be there by chance seemed unfair'.

He could feel her eyes on him.

His settled on his hands.

'Soon I was remind- I learned, in the most hurtful ways, that being on top attracts all kinds of dangers and threats and…'

He was going to say _solitude_.

'… isolation'.

Sara's stare kept on him.

'As you can see, I faced the same dilemma you did, and I made the opposite choice', he forced himself to look back at her, 'And how did it end?', he scoffed, 'At your doorstep'.

'And has it been a bad thing?'

'Not at all…', he quickly answered.

(Too quickly to his own taste.)

He made sure to add, charmingly, '…but making those choices brought me some unnecessary trouble before I found this haven'.

'I don't believe in unnecessary trouble, you know?', she pondered, 'How can we be sure something is unnecessary if we don't go through it?'

He realized she had a very clear line of thought going on, 'So, like Hamlet, we have no choice but choosing something, and like Romeo and Juliet, no matter why we choose or what we do, the ending is not predictable …

'Exactly'.

He gave a cynical grin, 'In short, it doesn't really matter, because life goes on and we all end up all screwed, anyway'.

Sara smiled, 'Really?'

Crowley frowned in confusion, 'What?'

'I didn't accept a proposition that would change my life because I felt I had found my place of happiness, and stayed here; you accepted a proposition that would not change what you already believed, _got screwed_ and ended _in this haven_ ', she grinned, 'If you never know what may happen, it means something good can come of it'.

He blinked, amused, 'It's a lot of belief in coincidences'.

'Probability is the art of twisting numbers until they say what you want'.

'I suddenly miss my alien powers', he looked at her dead in the eye, 'I could teleport when I'm at a loss on what to say'.

Her laugh brightened the room.

He could feel his mouth stretching in an uncontrollable happy grin.

'My house is not that big, Fergus, but I'll love to have you wandering around, alien powers or not, for as much time as you wish to'.


	4. Wicked Game

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 4: Wicked Game**

 _The world was on fire and no one could save me but you  
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do  
I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you  
And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you_

If someone ever told Crowley he would find himself in such a situation, he would scoff at such foolishness.

However, here he was.

'I didn't think you would really do it', Sara spoke.

 _Exactly, darling._

'I've been underestimated so many times I got used to it', he said overdramatically, putting the special omelet he had just made in her plate. He sat down to cut the bread for her, then broke the pretense, smirking, 'You're lucky I'm a Hell of a guy'.

'And such a Drama Queen', she poured some juice for them, 'I still think your gruffness is just a façade. Deep inside you love cooking delicious things for your host', after a beat, she added, ' _Alien_ '.

'Who knows?', he conceded, 'The point is: I treat myself while introducing you to refined flavors', he waited for her to take a bite and have the perfect timing to add in the same tone of voice she had used on him, ' _Predator_ '.

'I'm far from complaining', she spoke through a half full mouth just to mock him, 'Besides, this no-salt diet is doing wonders for my blood pressure – and God knows I need it'.

He squinted, 'Is this a not-very-subtle comment on the fact you can get startled so easily?'

'You already know me so wel- _Wow_ ', she moaned in pleasure, 'This is really good!'

Luckily, their time together had helped Crowley to deal better with how sensual he found every move of hers.

It still troubled him that she didn't seem to realize how sexy she was, but there was nothing he could do about it, for now.

'Not my fault you get so distracted working that you zone out', he threw her a provocative glance, 'May I suggest you have a sadistic trace in your personality, once grading papers takes you so wholeheartedly?'

'My passion for my work is no excuse to how many times you've appeared out of thin air'.

 _If she only knew how close to the truth she is_ , 'Well, I'm as elegant as a cat, and for some reason you always notice me when it's too late'.

'First of all, the word is _stealthy_ ', she pointed at him, 'And the comparison would be perfect – I'd be living with a black cat – if you were not such a _crow_ '.

Crowley smirked.

 _If she only knew…_

Yes, he resembled a crow more than ever, still refusing to wear any color but black and staying in the same spot for long periods of time, observing her.

He found it amusing that she did not mind his presence as long as he didn't keep silent. He was more than glad to indulge in conversation with her. It helped her to make healthy breaks from work and gave him opportunity to talk – what he enjoyed a lot.

About him startling her: he had been testing his powers, trying to find out some pattern, once they were acting up on him: sometimes he was able to disguise his presence in a room, sometimes he could move small objects; however, sometimes his control slipped suddenly and he appeared out of nowhere (once she almost caught him in her bedroom) and, to his utter annoyance, sometimes he _felt tired_.

Until now he hadn't discovered any logic in those oscillations; thus, he kept testing.

(Hiding his presence could give Crowley opportunities to see Sara's intimacy without being seen, and he had something of a voyeur in him.

Besides, he had fantasized about being able to teleport again, just for the glorious feeling to take her with him anywhere in no time.)

Crowley brushed some crumbs off his forearm. That Thursday late afternoon he was wearing a black shirt and black jeans – still among the most informal things he possessed – and he still was getting used to have his arms exposed.

'I thought knowing the Police was not putting my door down would give me some peace of mind, but I was wrong', Sara spoke again, 'One of these days I'm going to have a coronary'.

'I've been living here for almost three months', he answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his eyes while he ate a bit of the omelet just to humor her, 'You should get used to the intense emotions I arouse'.

He started pushing the crumbs of bread together in a small pile, far from his skin.

Maybe he got tired because his powers were not strong enough to keep him without an external source of energy.

Maybe he should eat more.

But, eating more could make his body turn into more and more of a _human_ body, with all the consequences it brought.

So, maybe he should-

'Me, get used to living with such a cute unpredictable ball of joy as you?', she grinned and winked at him, 'Not likely'.

He stopped fussing with the bread.

He stopped with the obsessive thoughts.

He focused on her.

Crowley had been living with Sara for two months, three weeks and four days.

He started counting because there was the possibility of it being a prison, and he wanted to be aware of the time he spent there.

But soon he started counting the days because…

Because…

Well, because it felt like a new life, and he wanted to know for how much time he would be allowed to enjoy it.

He had access to his money, so he could pay for his expenses and not be a heavy load on Sara; he had some of his powers, what made sure he was healthy and could do some tricks; he had no memory of how he had ended there, so he had no worries on having to answer to someone on how he behaved or the decisions he made.

This comfortable existence – the good feelings, the easy companionship, the fulfilled needs – had to end. He had never known such things, and he couldn't really believe something so peaceful was for real.

However, Spring was there, soon Summer would be, the days started getting warmer and, in a leisure afternoon, when they were discussing animatedly over what to do with a spot in the front garden, Sara asked him if he was against wearing anything that was not proper enough for a concert or a funeral.

And that was when he decided she was right, and his black wardrobe started including t-shirts, hoodies and cargo _shorts_.

(He hasn't used the shorts outside, yet, but he knew it was a matter of time.)

At first he thought he had agreed with her because it meant he was still planning ten steps ahead, buying clothes that would fit better to the next seasons, but soon he realized he had started giving up the denial on the fact he would be living like that for a lot longer than he had guessed initially.

He had been changing, surely, but it was a shock to reach the point where he would believe his place was there, living a domestic life with a human woman.

He often wondered what it made him.

He was still Crowley for a lot of things: he didn't feel pity for stupid people and missed the _good ol' times_ when he could squash someone's head with a click of his fingers.

However, he could not call himself a demon, anymore: he had been more and more affected by Sara's view of the world, that included not believing in vengeance, giving help every time it doesn't get you too out of your way and making the best of every moment, no _ten steps ahead_ plans all the time.

That woman gave him a leverage he had never suspected would feel so good.

She was blunt and sincere, and he trusted her.

She was sweet and witty, and he enjoyed her company.

She smiled at him, she laughed at his jokes, she mocked her own little human weaknesses and idiosyncrasies without pointing his, and still she seemed to know the exact tone of voice to tease him and pull at his strings.

It gave Crowley a rush quite similar to what he felt when he was addicted to human blood – something that felt damn good but messed with things so deeply buried inside he feared he would not know what to do with them if they came to light.

He still couldn't stop wondering if his days were counted and this was an illusion.

He couldn't prevent himself from guessing what would happen if he never recovered his full powers nor found out how he had ended in Wyoming.

He couldn't say he was winning most of his inner fights.

He didn't even know what would be _winning_ , in this case.

'You're staring, Doctor House'.

'You're imagining things, sweetie pie'.

(Sara could call him names of gruffy characters as long as he could call her ridiculous names in response. That had been one of their deals.

Another deal that, unfortunately, he didn't have any excuse to seal with a kiss.)

She smiled, visibly satisfied he had come out of his inner world.

One more evidence that he had changed, by the way: _Crowley_ would have already used their easy companionship as an undeniable reason for them to get intimate; _Fergus_ wanted to advance slowly in uncharted territory, not sure of what to do with the passions she aroused in him.

They hadn't even touched yet – no romantic comedy moment when she trips and falls on his arms, or when both reach for something at the same time and accidentally hold hands – and he was resigned to the tension between them.

He desired her, for sure. He had touched himself thinking of her many times already – every night, in the last month, and in improper places of the house since forever, to be sincere –, and he was quite sure she shared the feeling, by the way she looked at him.

He wondered if she had the same doubts as him. Maybe both were still testing the waters to find out if that tenderness should be allowed to enter sexual territory.

She seemed quite self-satisfied living alone. Maybe she saw him as a temporary company, not a potential lover.

He was truly confused.

He wanted to touch her but was afraid of breaking the chemistry between them with the revelation that she didn't think of him that way.

He would feel rejected even if she thought of him _that way_ but not that much to be passional about it.

 _She said she never knew passion as movies and books show. She doesn't believe in romantic love._

 _I don't believe in those things, either._

 _I should take whatever she wants to offer._

As a demon, his standard behavior was to flirt with or simply grab anyone he lusted after and dismiss eventual annoyed answers with a shrug and a _your loss_ attitude.

He was not recognizing himself. Why couldn't he simply reach out and pretend he was touching her as a pure gesture of affection, to advance and bring sex to the table as soon as possible?

 _Not in this table._

 _Even if it is an interesting possibility…_

He sighed.

So many possibilities.

But he couldn't make a move.

It would be nice to feel her skin and her hair with his fingertips.

But it would be nice to feel her lips with his lips, too.

And it would be nice if his tongue could get involved, too.

'Grandma, what big eyes you have!'

'What?'

'You're still staring'.

He just raised his brows in agreement.

'I don't really mind it', she said, 'You have beautiful big eyes'.

'Are you mocking me?'

'Of course not!'

He squinted.

'Greeks called the goddess Athena _the one with the eyes of an owl_ because she was the goddess of intelligence and strategy. You're witty and caring and it's all in there for anyone to see in those big eyes', she juggled her shoulders charmingly, 'I'm saying you're pretty'.

If he had real blood in his veins, totally human blood, he would have blushed.

(He had chosen a vessel who was somewhat similar to his human form as Fergus McLeod. The New Yorker literary agent had not been as fair haired as he would have preferred, but the likeliness was enough for him to be able to praise his own looks.)

'If that's true, why don't you stare?'

 _What?_

'I do stare'.

'I never see it'.

 _What?_

She winked, 'To each their stealthy-'

Her phone rang in the other room, where it was recharging.

Crowley had to make a conscious effort to not set the thing in flames.

He was pretty sure he would be capable of that, if he tried to use his powers to vent some frustration.

'I wonder who it is', Sara got up, 'The only person who ever calls me in the most inappropriate times is right here'.

Crowley relaxed a bit at her playful words, 'It was _one_ time, and just because the pharmacist was a moron'.

She rolled her eyes and walked away to pick the phone.

He was glad she turned her focus on the phone, because he knew he had a foolish happy look on his face at the bantering.

To his surprise, the woman saw the number and rejected the call.

She muted the phone, too, and left it where it had been before.

Crowley followed Sara with his eyes while she walked back to the table and sat.

She was gloomy and avoided eye contact.

She pushed the mug away from her and rested her joined hands on the table.

And then she sighed, finally facing him, 'You want to know, don't you?'

'I'm a very curious creature', he said, then frowned, truly worried, 'Is there any reason why I should not know?'

'It's unnecessary information'.

Crowley's stomach churned.

It was the first time she was not totally open about something.

He clenched his jaw in a movement she must already know meant he was dealing with his discomfort.

'It bothers you', she stated, noticing his face.

'Surely _first time Sara hid something_ is not making the cut when they put together the montage of our happiest moments'.

She gave him a sad smile.

In an impulse he didn't know where came from, Crowley put his hands on the table to support himself and get up. He wanted to give her space, even if it meant he would be for hours ruminating on her reasons to receive a secret call and his reasons to not demand answers right then and there.

He even opened his mouth to say something about washing the dishes before wild animals invaded the house – he was shaken, but it didn't mean he had lost his ability to pretend he didn't care – but she put her hand on his.

He froze.

It was their first touch.

A thrill ran from the spot where she touched him to every part of his body.

His skin tingled.

He sat again.

She caressed his hand with her fingertips.

He turned his hand palm up, offering it for her to take.

To his surprise, she kept the caress.

Feathering touches in his palm made things strangely intimate.

He shivered.

She saw it and licked her lips.

'Are you trying to distract me?'

'Is it working?'

'Yes', he cleared his throat, 'But it's a low blow'.

'It was my ex-boyfriend', she hurried to say.

Her hand stopped moving but didn't leave his.

'I have nothing to hide and we don't have any unfinished business', she said in a low and delicate voice, ' _I_ ended things with him. We have nothing to say to each other'.

He moved his fingers on her skin, testing the feel of it, 'You're not curious to know why he would call?'

Her body relaxed a bit, 'I had expected him to call and talk things over since day one, but I got so involved with you – erase that smirk, it's a serious moment – that I kind of forgot about him'.

'Throwing his socks away was the right thing to do, then'.

'Yes, you were right – _If you don't intend to make a hex bag with it, give me the honor_ ', she mimicked his accent.

He just smiled at her imitation and the fact she remembered every word he said, even if she thought he was joking.

He smiled tenderly.

 _What the Hell?_

'He is a good man', she went on, 'Someone must have commented I was seen with some guy…'

'I'm not _some_ guy', Crowley questioned, 'I could teach a lesson to your neighborhood'.

'Stop it. I'm the teacher here', she chuckled, brought her other hand to their joined ones, involving his, and sobered, 'I wonder what good it does to postpone a conversation, but I feel like it's going to be a waste of time and… an unpleasant situation'.

'Why would it be unpleasant?', he showed a feral grin, 'Let's just humiliate him until he begs us to stop'.

'There's no reason for that'.

'He didn't respect your decision to part and never meet again'.

She raised a brow at the dramatics, 'I'm over him'.

'If you don't bother doing something, let me'.

'Fergus…', she gripped his hands a bit stronger to give emphasis to what she had to say, 'William is a very nice guy. He must be worried about me and the fact I'm living with a stranger. That's why I didn't answer the call, that's why I don't want to bring him here or be seen with him somewhere. You don't have to go through this'.

 _So…_

 _This is about my well-being, again?_

'Are…', he chose the words carefully, '…people talking about us?'

'Obviously', she smiled, 'I was married to a guy for six years. I didn't date or get interested in anyone for a long time, after my divorce. And then William came over and I decided to give it a try. We had barely broken up, for my standards – less than a month – when you appeared, and suddenly you were living here and was by my side in every function at school, and we say we're _roommates_ and people nod and pretend they don't find it strange. But I know they do'.

'Do you?'

She smiled sweetly at his question, and he felt a strange pull inside.

Was this what people call _someone pulling at the strings of your heart?_

'If something is strange, it means there's a _normal_. I don't believe in normal, I don't believe in standards, so I don't believe in _strange_ ', she sighed, 'We didn't even name what we have, and I don't think we should. I couldn't care less about what people say'.

He closed his hands around hers.

He agreed completely.

'Don't get me wrong, Fergus, but I can see you have gone through a lot'.

Their eyes seemed to get deeper into each other.

'You have trust issues. Sometimes you get tense all of a sudden and I have no clue what I did and what it's going on your mind. But most of the time you seem all right, here with me. Even happy. I don't care what we are or where we're going to, as long as we're both ok with it', she smiled, 'I'm totally ok with it, by the way'.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

But then he realized the opportunity, and went for it, 'You are not curious?'

'About…?'

'Us', he made an effort to act casual, 'You don't seem the kind of person who lives just in the moment'.

'Of course I wonder about us. I _fantasize_ ', she licked her lips in that annoying spontaneous sexy way, 'But I've settled a very strict limit to what I'll do regarding it'.

'Why?'

'Because I have this feeling that I may mess it up'.

 _What?_

'There is something about you… Something different. I can't put my finger on it, but my instincts tell me to be delicate'.

 _What?_

'I don't believe in stereotypes, and I'm not here to criticize whatever you're into'.

'Just a moment', he raised a finger to interrupt her, 'You're talking about sex?'

'Yes, I'm talking about sex'.

'You speak as if you see me as some kind of _prude_ '.

She grinned at the way he said the word.

'I've done unspeakable things', he frowned, 'In bed, I mean'.

'And still, I had to reach out and touch you for the first time'.

He opened his arms in irritation, 'I don't understand you, humans. You expected me to throw you over my shoulder to show I wanted you?'

'That's funny from the guy who decorated a room to mirror the lady he wanted to impress', she raised her brows, 'Some birds do that', she opened her mouth in surprise, 'Oh! You're really a crow!'

He squinted at her.

'Don't be like that', she leaned her head, 'Sexuality is not easy for anyone'.

'I don't any problems with my sexuality'.

'I didn't say you had any problem'.

'I'm not following'.

'I said it's not easy. It's hard to understand how desire works. I felt we were attracted to each other, but you never made a move – what I found sexy, by the way – but sometimes you got tense and kept me at arms' length. All I don't want is to break whatever is going on if we're not sure what happens'.

Crowley gulped down the urge to pour out everything that was going on through his head.

However, he didn't know exactly what it was.

He had been distraught about sex, in his different lives: he had been used for sex when he was very young, and had mixed feelings about it – pleasure and pain, specifically – and for the most of his existence as Fergus he saw it more as a display of power than anything else. As Crowley, he had been able to participate in hardcore orgies and, as much as it satisfied him, they didn't leave him sedated and tired as he wished.

For some time he thought it was related to being a supernatural being, but his addiction to human blood clarified the reason – the lack of real intimacy.

He wished there was more to sex than lust.

'I have a long and twisted story with sex', he found himself saying, 'But I had never been shy about it…'

'Until now?'

He nodded, 'Until now'.

She raised their joined hands to her lips.

She kissed his knuckles, taking her time to savor his skin.

Sara closed her eyes in pleasure.

Crowley felt his mouth opening in surprise at the intensity of the contact.

'Do you know what made me sure we were feeling the same things?', she opened her eyes and looked straight into his.

'The fire in my eyes?', he didn't know how he had found his voice, 'The heat of my body close to you?'

'That helped, but I could be reading too much into it', she smirked, 'What did it were the things you do for me – the small obviously uncomfortable things you do for me'.

'I have no idea what you're talking about'.

He smiled foolishly while saying that, what ruined the grumpy effect he had aimed at.

'Let's see…', she pretended to think, 'You agreed to be the tailor for one of the plays in my school…'

'I just sew some cloths together'.

'You made miracles with so little'.

'And my reward was to be greeted by every mom'.

'Don't forget the group hug from the 3rd grade girls'.

'I'll surely never forget', he shivered in disgust.

'You held up my fence while I was fixing it last week…'

'And you scolded me'.

'Because you gave a Death Glare to anyone who passed by and mentioned you should be the one doing the hard work'.

'Cretins'.

She freed her hands and rested them on his cheeks, 'You've been shaving now and then since I mentioned I was curious on what you looked like without the beard…'

'You said I am handsome both ways'.

'And you are'.

Her hands caressed his face as if playing with the details in it, and he realized she was making again the moves to get them closer.

Crowley sighed, 'Anyone who knew me would not believe I was capable of such things', he shrugged, 'Not even myself'.

'Such things as beauty?'

He let out a laugh.

Crowley couldn't believe it.

'You know you're beautiful, don't you?'

One of her hands went back to his.

The other reached his ear.

He leaned into her touch.

 _Damned body and its humanlike weaknesses._

'I don't understand how someone could mistreat you', she said, her pupils dilating, 'I can't find anything to dislike in you'.

He scoffed and looked away.

 _Damned mind and its humanlike insecurities._

'It's true', she guaranteed, 'You're quick-minded, witty, polite, classy, know your pop culture, is well read and has a lot of apparently random abilities'.

His eyes went back to hers.

She felt encouraged, 'You can read in Latin and Middle English. You have detailed knowledge on ancient Mythologies and urban legends. You can sew. You cook delicious things with exotic spices. You hold fences and make threatening faces at passing people like a boss'.

Her eyes bore into his, and Crowley felt, one more time, slapped in the soul.

Her listing of what she considered his qualities sounded like it was about another person. Not because he couldn't recognize himself, but because no one ever praised him.

He gave up fishing for compliments a long time ago. He knew when someone said something good about him, they were lying _and_ had some shady intention.

The times he nurtured the illusion that Team Free Will liked him at some degree just brought pain and ended up with him sacrificing himself for them as the most beautiful way to let go of such a miserable existence.

'What is there to not like in you, Fergus?', Sara interrupted his turmoiled thoughts.

He closed his eyes and took her hand to kiss its palm, 'I hope you don't regret it'.

He kept his eyes closed forcefully.

It seemed he had no control over the things that came out of his mouth.

'Regretting implies I'd prefer to be back to my previous life', her voice was the sweetest thing, 'I don't even remember what was to live before you came along'.

He opened his eyes.

He felt _his_ pupils dilating.

It was better than any Craig.

It was better than human blood.

The doorbell rang.


	5. Like a Virgin

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 5: Like a virgin**

 _I made it through the wilderness  
Somehow I made it through  
Didn't know how lost I was  
Until I found you_

 _I was beat  
Incomplete  
I'd been had, I was sad and blue  
But you made me feel  
Yeah, you made me feel  
Shiny and new_

 _Like a virgin  
Touched for the very first time  
Like a virgin  
When your heart beats  
Next to mine_

They exchanged a shocked glance.

In part, because the moment had been interrupted.

But mainly because, all of a sudden, a male voice called Sara's name, and it was obvious who would have the ill-timing to do that.

She gave a last squeeze on Crowley's hand and went to the door to look through the peephole.

'Yes', she announced, 'It's him'.

Crowley exhibited his teeth in a predatory stance, 'May I put my plan in motion?'

'No need to', she raised a hand to stop him, 'Stay around. I'll call you if I think it's necessary to show off some of our chemistry'.

'Your plan sounds better than mine', he had his trademark _think-I-should-be-offended_ look, 'And I'm not used to be happy when someone's wit gets the best of me'.

'Maybe I'm that special to you', she smiled, then got serious to raise a finger in warning, 'Behave yourself'.

He nodded as the good boy he could be.

She smiled gratefully (what made being a good boy worth it) and opened the door.

'Hi, William'.

'Hi, Sara. May I come in for a minute?'

'I don't think so, Billy', Crowley appeared by Sara's side imposingly, 'And it's quite rude to come when you just called and was _refused_ , by the way'.

He spoke with clenched teeth.

(And realized it wouldn't kill to be mean now and then.

He kind of missed it, in fact.)

'That's not exactly plan A', Sara whispered to him.

William cleared his throat, 'I've heard about you being with some…', he made a subtle gesture towards the other man, '… company'.

Crowley advanced his torso and was ready to make things escalate, but Sara put a pacifying hand on his chest, 'Let me'.

He looked at her, glared at the man in front of him, looked at her again and, just for the sake of it, kissed her cheek before walking to the interior of the house.

(Not before glaring at the other man one more time.)

Obviously, he stopped soon enough to listen to the rest of the conversation.

He was curious, he had to protect her, he had to distract himself from the thrilling of her skin against his lips.

Fortunately, he realized he had rested his hand on the spot where she had touched him, over his heart.

He hurriedly lowered the hand. No need to be ridiculous.

'I was wondering if you needed something. We went through a lot, together-'

'I know'.

'And it doesn't matter that we are over. You can count on me for anything'.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

 _The gall!_

'That's ok, William. I'm ok. Seriously'.

There were some moments of silence.

The man said something too low for Crowley to hear.

'I ended things with you because…', Sara paused for a moment and went on with her answer, '…it didn't click. It was like we didn't know each other, anymore'.

More whispering.

Crowley was getting antsy. Maybe he should go back and take things into his hands, scaring that puny human soul away.

'You don't need to worry. Really', Sara was speaking again.

'All right. I just had to make sure'.

'And I'm thankful. Believe me'.

'I still… You know, don't you?'

Crowley squared his shoulders. He was going there. Sara didn't have to endure such an obnoxious-

'Yes, I know. It's great that someone like you cares about me, William. Unfortunately, caring is not enough for things to work out'.

Crowley paused, waiting.

She had used a definitive tone.

The man murmured something more, and she must have nodded, because he couldn't hear anything else until the door was closed.

He stepped forward, anxious to see her.

Sara was standing by the closed door, half turned to him, very serious.

Wishing to get her attention, he spoke in a derogative voice, 'Is Billy the Kid gone?'

She turned totally to him, but crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest, 'Yes'.

He noticed she breathed deeply.

She was in distress.

He didn't know what to do.

He didn't even know why she was in distress.

He realized this must be how Castiel felt most of the time – confused about humans' feelings and reactions and, worse, wishing to help and not having a clue of how to proceed.

However, Crowley had been human. He even had human blood in his veins. He must be able to get what was happening and do something useful.

He moved to stand right in front of her and spoke as delicately as he could, 'What is the problem?'

She raised her eyes to his, 'It feels strange when life offers you the opportunity to close a door'.

 _I agree. Humans are not supposed to be that powerful_.

'I'm the one who teaches that every choice matters; that even when you choose not to act on something, you're doing something. Now I just ended something for good and…', she looked for the words, '…it's a great responsibility'.

 _Yes, darling. Free Will is a bitch._

'You can always change your mind'.

 _What?_

She was as surprised as him.

'I'm not saying you should, I'm saying you could', he hurried to clarify.

'That's not how I do things, Fergus', she sounded as the teacher she must be in classroom, 'I took a decision. I would never keep someone hanging on'.

'Having power over someone may be a matter of survival'.

'Having power and making someone suffer couldn't be more different from what I believe', she frowned, 'It makes me sad that I had nothing to offer him in exchange for the goodbye. I didn't invite him to come in…'

'Was it because of me?'

'No. I wouldn't cut people off my life because of you. That would be an absurd', he nodded, and she added, 'I was just not interested'.

Sara stayed silent.

Looking away.

Still bothered.

'I stand corrected', Crowley said in a voice that made clear he was not comfortable admitting it, 'I'm not familiar with that level of empathy. I don't know what to do of it'.

She looked at him.

He didn't know what her stare meant. He expected his admittance to lift some of the weight on her shoulders, but all he managed was that enigmatic eyes inspecting him.

He was getting uncomfortable, and that was unacceptable.

He squinted, 'Lost something here?'

She blinked, as if getting out of a haze, uncrossed her arms and leaned forward.

Crowley froze, waiting for what she was going to do.

He wondered when he had started being at her mercy like that, leaving her to decide what the next step would be without having a safe exit.

Sara lifted her arms to involve his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

She was hugging him.

Why would that ray of light search for solace in his darkness?

It felt like she was _nestling_ in him, in fact.

Maybe light needed some dark and warm place to hide, now and then.

Maybe he had something good to provide, here.

He wished for his body to relax and his arms to hold her. It was his chance for body contact, his chance to resume where they had stopped when the doorbell rang, his chance to make some unmistakable move towards intimacy, his chance to show she didn't have to worry about the door she had just closed.

However, he found out he couldn't relax.

He couldn't even retribute the hug.

He was petrified.

Sara parted from him to look into his eyes, her hands on his shoulders.

That stare that seemed to revolve his soul was there, again, making things even more difficult.

'Hey', she caressed his arms lightly, 'I'll give you some space'.

Crowley wanted to say _no_ , to ask her to stay and hug him again until he got used to it and permitted himself to be lost in the moment – lost _in her_ –, but the words didn't come.

She gave him a worried smile, kissed him lightly on the cheek and went to her room.

Xxx

Later, Crowley had mixed feelings: he wanted to feel sorry for himself, but didn't have the guts to do so.

And _guts_ , in this case, were the literal ones, once he couldn't stop vomiting.

Not exactly _vomiting_ , because he didn't have anything to be thrown up. It had been more of a whole hour of convoluted stomach and painful abdominal muscles from his body trying to expel something that was not there.

When Sara left him in the living room after that disaster of a hug, he sat at the sofa in complete despair at his reactions.

What was his problem? He had an urge to get closer, but every time the opportunity arose, he was assaulted by an eerie feeling.

Why was that?

Well, he had plenty of memories on being backstabbed, especially regarding emotional bonds. Every time he had tried to open up with someone he had been deceived. No matter the way he couldn't keep his feelings inside – not keeping a secret to himself, craving affection during sex, permitting his good side to have the upper hand and deciding to save someone – the person in the other end always had used the information against him.

Lola came to mind.

The last woman to betray him.

The demon who pretended to care about him when he was addicted to human blood.

He told about his craving to her and he permitted her to see him under the effect.

She saw him being emotional. He had been a breath away from telling her his most guarded wish – the one that kept tormenting him since was put into words in front of Sam Winchester.

He wanted to be loved.

And he wanted someone to believe he deserved it.

Luckily, demons are too gross and evil to maintain such façades for long; he detected Lola's lies and killed her before she saw too much of him.

However, two evils don't make one good: the wound had been reopened, and the pain of never being in the end of anyone's sincere affection stayed with him after he got rid of her.

Crowley still tried to stablish some kind of positive relationship with the Winchesters and Castiel. Soon it was clear Dean despised him, Sam disliked him and the angel found him annoying.

To complete the picture, his mother was moved when he killed a man who had fooled her, proving one more time she just thought he was worth anything when he was useful to her.

Every rejection hurt more than the previous, now that the gates of feelings were open. He found out he was not able to pretend he didn't care, anymore.

And that is why death had not been exactly a sacrifice, but his only option for a kind of nice way out.

Lucifer had been right: no matter what Crowley did, he always lost.

Those were his dark thoughts when he stayed alone in Sara's living room.

When tears came to his eyes, Crowley got up and went in quick strides to his bedroom, where he had hidden a bottle of Craig.

He had bought it in the end of his first month there, and hid it because Sara didn't have a single bottle of alcohol in the house. He supposed she didn't like it, so he didn't ask any questions and decided not to risk appearing with a breath.

If he was to be sincere – what he was not very fond of, but, well, he was changed – he hadn't felt much of an urge to drink. Sara offered so much quality time he often forgot how he used to enjoy himself before meeting her.

However, that night would prove unbearable if he didn't indulge.

He picked the bottle and the tumbler he had bought with it, sat on his bed and served himself.

Soon he started feeling somewhat better, his thoughts fuzzy. A soothing numb mindedness enveloped him.

The old Crowley seemed to be back, telling he should not be bothered by feelings.

He knew feelings. He could deal with them. He had manipulated people to do what he wanted with no hint of regret of guilt.

He had been truly annoyed, of course. He had been bloody furious. Intense hatred had poured from him. When it happened, he made sure to broadcast it to everyone around, in order to show how much of a demon he really was.

He did it because he knew he was not the typical demon. His mind had been broken and twisted, but he hadn't got stupid; he didn't mind torture, but didn't care for useless gore; he didn't do evil just for enjoyment, and he took deals very seriously. He lacked in empathy, surely, but could let go grudges when certain people were involved.

The explosive displays had been, most of times, carefully controlled to be mixed with frozen demeanors, frightening anyone who forgot such a powerful creature could be mad and malign and unpredictable.

His maneuvers to convince the crowd of his real essence of a demon sounded ridiculous, now.

Even the stupidest demons could see right through him when he turned into a King who believed lines were as efficient as torture than dismemberment.

Maybe he really didn't get what Hell was about.

Maybe the best thing he had ever done was to sacrifice himself.

But the universe was not done with him, and Crowley was his own Hamlet, locked in his very own existential crossroad, not able to make any move.

At a certain point he wondered when drinking stopped being soothing and started freeing his inner torments, and realized he was having a _déjà vu_ of being Fergus, the drunk tailor who died in a gutter.

Things just went downhill from there.

Xxx

Well, drinking had been a mistake.

It started nice, boosted his confidence for some moments, made him a crying mess and then a sickened mess.

Crowley was paying for the fact he didn't have his full powers nor Dean Winchester's liver.

His vessel had acted as if it was possessed by a violent spirit and now he felt spent, slumped against the bathroom wall like a battered voodoo doll.

(A voodoo doll that belonged to a eco-witch, reused to exhaustion in order to save the material as much as possible.)

Delicate knocks on the door brought him out of his lonely misery, 'Fergus?'

He made an effort to sit and crunched his face in pain, 'Yes?'

'Are you done? May I come in?'

'Just a moment'.

He pushed himself up.

A glance at the mirror showed he had been lucky to shave that morning, or he would have the face of the stereotypical drunk.

He washed his face, tried to put some order in his hair (didn't manage), breathed deeply to accommodate the rebellious disarrange of lungs and diaphragm and dried his face.

Gathering as much dignity as he could, he went for the door and opened it, intending to go to his room with no fuss and lay down on his bed to wish away the episode.

However, he hadn't considered the possibility that Sara would stand right where she would be able to stare him in the face while blocking the door.

Her eyes widened, 'What happened?'

He didn't know what she was seeing, but he supposed he couldn't just pretend it was nothing, 'I made a mistake'.

'What was it? You ate salt?'

 _Should have thought of saying that_ , 'I had something to drink'.

'Oh', she turned around and walked away, 'I don't think I have anything for that'.

Crowley walked to the sofa – the closest comfortable surface – and sat, hands covering his face.

He didn't understand exactly what Sara meant. Had she walked away because she didn't find drinking attractive?

Well, at this moment, neither did he.

He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, enduring the sickening feeling in his stomach and the subtle pain in his head, regret making him utterly human.

'Come on', Sara's voice pulled him from his inner thoughts again, 'This may help'.

He lowered his hands and found out she was sitting by his side, a mug in one hand and a pill in the other.

He looked at her, confused.

'The tea will help the upset stomach, and the painkiller is for any ugly aches from vomiting for so much time'.

Crowley reached slowly, picked the pill, put it in his mouth, accepted the mug and gulped a healthy swig.

The warm drink helped.

There was something off in her words, but he didn't have a head clear enough to point it out.

He was startled by her soothing hand on his back.

'The bathroom is safe', he said, wishing to retribute the favor.

'Don't worry about it now'.

She answered and didn't move from his side.

'I mean you can use it'.

'I don't need to'.

He turned his head to her, 'But you…'

It dawned on him that she didn't knock on the door because she wanted to use the facilities, but because she had been worried about him.

That was what he had felt like was off – she mentioned _vomiting for so much time_ , as if she had been outside making sure he-

 _Oh._

A knot formed in his throat.

Her hand advanced on his back, turning her gesture into a hug, 'I heard the noises and went to check on you. Guessed my alien had touched some Earth poison and had to be rescued', she grinned, 'I waited until it seemed you were not in such bad shape it would be worse if I saw you – I think I'm not prepared to see your true extraterrestrial form now that I'm used to this one'.

 _Oh, dear._

A tear ran down his cheek, catching him off-guard.

 _Bollocks!_

 _Where is dignity when one needs it?_

Crowley wiped off the tear and supported his forehead on his fist, looking stubbornly away.

'I said you didn't have to tell me anything, and it stands', Sara nudged his shoulder with hers and spoke softly, 'But if you decide it's healthier to share, I'll be there for you'.

A choked-up laugh escaped him, 'If I get the reference, it means we're _friends_ '.

'Yes, baby', the hand on his back reached for a caress on his hair, 'That's the least we are'.

They stayed in silence for some time – her hand playing lightly with his hair, he sipping the rest of the tea and feeling the warmth surrounding him get inside.

At some point he found the need to explain himself, 'I'm not used to… nice things. I'm lost in these…', he had to force the word out, '… _feelings_ '.

She didn't answer immediately.

Her free hand reached for his forearm and she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Just when she settled on him she spoke, 'I'm sorry you didn't experience caring before. Luckily, it's too late for you to get rid of me – because I do care for you'.

Crowley closed his eyes, feeling her warmth spread and mollify him.

Sara didn't spoke again for a long time and, to his surprise, neither did him.

There was nothing else to say.

At some point she patted his arm, took the empty mug from his hands and parted from him.

She picked a blanket she kept on the corner of the sofa ( _for emergencies_ ), gestured for him to lie down and covered him with it.

Crowley adjusted easily in the huge sofa, not quite understanding why she wanted him to stay there or why she had walked hurriedly towards her bedroom after tucking him in.

Soon she was back, her cellphone in hand.

She put it on a nearby table and got under the covers with him, involving his body with hers.

Sara fell asleep quickly and, even if Crowley didn't exactly sleep, he spent the rest of the night zooning in and out, relaxed against her.

Xxx

Next morning they woke up snugged – he a bit more clingy than he should permit himself –, she greeted him with a smile and a _How you doin?_ that made him chuckle and got up, ordering him to stay resting.

He agreed, not ready to leave the warmth.

He observed her going from one side to the other, heard the human sounds she made while getting ready for a day of work, realized she was trying not to disturb him with open curtains or noisy movements, and felt ridiculously special.

Last thing before leaving, Sara stopped besides the sofa, 'Promise me you'll rest. I'd like to have my chirpy beauty back when I get home'.

He smiled, 'I'll make my best'.

'That's enough'.

Xxx

Crowley really made his best: he drank more tea, read and made sure to stay enveloped in the blanket with her scent for the whole morning, taking care of his vessel better than he already usually did.

He was feeling a lot better close to lunchtime, even wondering if he should get up and test how his body would react to some action, when he heard her car.

He was surprised. Sara never came home in the middle of the day at Tuesdays. It was the most frantic day for her, and she usually had lunch with her colleagues.

The door opened and she entered in a hurry, 'How's my crow going?'

The light of the door behind her made her even more similar to a ray of light.

She made _crow_ sound like endearment.

She made him wish she knew everything about him and would, when her will dictated, call him _Crowley_.

Even if he liked when she called him _Fergus_.

He liked everything she called him, in fact.

 _I must be feverish._

'Almost myself', he noticed the bags in her hands, 'What are those?'

'Hungover food and meds', she opened a bottle of juice recently bought, poured some and gave it to him, 'Drink it. People at work were strangely sympathetic about too much drinking and made me buy these'.

He looked at it suspiciously, 'This is supposed to cure me?'

'The idea is making you feel better', she sat by his side.

He tried it, 'It's refreshing'.

'That's it, then'.

He accepted the pill she gave him, gulped it down with more juice and frowned at her, 'Did you have lunch before coming here to play Florence Nightingale?'

'I ate something', she shrugged, 'When people got what kind of wreak I had at home they improvised for me to get out earlier and take a look at you before afternoon turn begins'.

'I wonder how many school festivities I'll have to help them with to pay for this favor'.

'Don't worry. That's on me. Being the nicest person in the world has its advantages', she grinned, 'People like making me favors'.

 _People used to have debts with me._

 _The way you use your powers are better than mine ever was._

 _I must be feverish._

'Thank you, Sara'.

'That's ok', she answered, 'What matters is that you get better'.

He wondered if he should…

Yes, he should.

'Sara?'

'Yes?'

'I never asked how you felt about drinking. I hope I haven't done something too out of line'.

She hesitated for a moment.

He waited patiently.

'My parents died in a car accident when I was twenty-six. My father was drunk'.

 _Oh._

'It's the kind of stupid thing that could be prevented. He knew he was wrong, my mother had already said a thousand times she was not entering a car with him when he drank, but the party had been great, everybody was happy, God protects good people, what could go wrong?'

She shrugged sadly.

'I was an adult. But, as an only child, and daughter of two only children, I saw myself losing all the family I had known. I developed a depression I was not aware of, and my divorce came soon after. Now I take my medicine, I have strong bonds with friends, I have a job I love…'

She took his hand and opened her mouth to say something else, but the words didn't come out.

He guessed what she wanted to say.

She was invested in him, and seeing him with the after-effects of the thing that killed her parents must have made her relive her nightmares.

Instead of leaving him to his own devices, she did everything to make sure he was well.

'I'm sorry', he murmured, his hand holding hers.

And he was sorry. Sincerely.

She tried to sound light through a constricted throat, 'Don't get mushy on me'.

'I won't if you won't'.

Her pearly laugh sounded.

How he had missed that sound!

That woman was really a ray of light.

'Tell me some boring story from work', he asked.

She understood the change of subject, breathed deeply to clear her nose from some annoying almost-tears and started a random entertaining tale.

Xxx

Sara left one hour later.

They spent the time with small talk and light touches.

She said her goodbye to him with a kiss on his forehead and a dazzling grin.

When the door closed behind her, Crowley stayed listening intently.

Her bouncing steps.

Her joyful greeting to a neighbor.

The sound of her car.

She had disrupted her daily routine to check on him.

She had talked about him to her co-workers.

She had taken care of him even when he did something that reminded her of a sad time.

And, through all that, she was undeniably happy because he was there.

That was the moment when Crowley felt something shifting inside him.

If not making anything was a choice and had its consequences, he'd rather do something, and soon.


	6. Sexuality

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 6: Sexuality**

 _Come on_

 _Come on_

 _Shed the skin that's held you in  
held you far too long_

 _Now how bad could it be  
If you should fall in love with me?  
How bad could it be  
Sexuality?_

 _Come on_

 _Come on  
Kiss away the ones who say  
The lust you feel is wrong_

 _Now how bad could it be  
If you amuse yourself with me?  
How bad could it be  
Sexuality?_

 _Release yourself upon me  
Free the hounds of chastity  
Unleash your sexuality _

_on me_

Crowley had what one could call _mixed feelings_ for the billionth time in the last days.

 _I should be proud. I didn't really count, but it must be a personal record._

And still, calling it _mixed_ didn't make justice to the situation.

On one side, he was giddy for being finally able to do something to show Sara he wanted to get laid by her. After the way she had taken care of him some days ago – being considerate for his feelings regarding a visit from her ex and treating his sick body after the drunken stupidity – and the way he had cared for her in the same occasions – trying to protect her from an ex she didn't need protection from, understanding how she felt about the drunken stupidity and feeling truly sorry for it –, there was no more space for doubts regarding their bond.

On the other side, making a move on her made him anxious, fearing she would reject his advances for some unpredictable reason made him panicked, and finally having sex with someone with whom he had a bond made him confused.

Getting into her bed in those circumstances would be a lot more intimate than anything he had ever done, given their current…

 _Relationship_?

Well, they had a relationship. They had never named it, but there was something.

The blurred edges were part of the enchantment or the reason why he was so insecure?

His strategy to seduce Sara was trivial and kind of ridiculous, but Crowley was not permitting it to stop him. Not now that he had decided to act.

It was the only idea that occurred to him in his state of desperation, and he would cling to it.

xxx

So, when the woman arrived from work that late afternoon, he was waiting for her in the living room.

Sara knew something was up the moment she saw her _roommate_ wearing a robe and standing close to the kitchen entry, very serious-looking: she closed the door keeping her eyes on him, letting the surprise at his attire register clearly, 'Hi, Fergus'.

'Hello, Sara'.

She deposited her car keys and bag in a nearby cabinet, as she usually did, turned to him and gave him the once over, 'You seem fine'.

He hesitated for a moment at the ambiguous talking.

'Thank you', he decided was the best answer.

Crowley advanced quickly towards her, intending on making an impression.

He had done it a thousand times in his existence. It was the safest strategy for people to cow, and cowing was the first step to surrender.

However, a look from her was enough for him to halt.

Her disarming openness made impossible to do anything that could put her off balance.

The last thing he wanted was for Sara to look at him with anything that even slightly resembled fear or annoyance.

Deciding to change tactics, he improvised a gentlemanly gesture towards the kitchen, 'I prepared vegetable cream'.

'Aw! How did you know it was just what I needed?!', she smiled in gratitude and passed by him, touching his robe-covered arm in a sweet gesture.

Crowley rolled his eyes at how easy it was for her to touch him.

She served herself, sat and signaled for him to join her, as she always did, even if he didn't eat much.

He obeyed her, this time, and she ate joyfully, content he had decided to indulge in really sharing a meal with her.

He feasted more in her happiness than in real food. Knowing she worried about his eating habits, he had decided that wooing her must include putting her mind at ease.

It was working.

When they were over with the cream, he raised a finger for her to wait and went to the fridge.

Sara almost squealed when she saw the chocolate mousse.

Eating something sweet was a routine when her workday had been especially tiresome.

He knew it, too, and was using every little thing about her to accomplish his goal.

When she finished the dessert she couldn't contain her curiosity anymore; so, she wiped her lips and stared at him firmly, 'Is a TV crew somewhere, ready to shout this is a _hidden camera_ surprise?'

'It's more of a _reality show_ , in fact', he corrected, 'Given my intentions, I would say it is _The Bachelorette_ '.

Sara's mouth opened in shock, 'You're trying to win me over?'

' _Trying_?', he scoffed, 'At this point I expected you to be sitting on my lap to show your gratitude, young audiences be damned'.

She raised a brow, 'Someone is very cocky'.

'Is that your way to say you're curious?'

Sara looked at him in astonishment for some moments.

And then she started laughing.

'Hey', he frowned, 'That's not what you were supposed to do'.

She raised a pacifying hand and pressed her lips together, but her shoulders still shook in barely contained mirth.

Crowley could feel himself deflating, his fear of rejection getting the best of him.

Was now the moment when he found out he had been wrong about everything? That he had been deluded? That one more time he had hoped for something that was not there for him?

Something that _could never be_ there for him?

Sara must have seen the scare in his face, because she got suddenly very serious.

Her eyes sweetened, 'I'm not saying _no_ '.

He scowled to keep some façade and not show the fragility he was feeling, 'But?'

'No _buts_. I'm just confused by the theatrics', she extended her arm on the table, 'Isn't it obvious there is something between us?', she held her hand palm up, 'Why beating around the bush?'

He accepted the silent invitation, resting his hand on hers.

The touch calmed him a bit.

'I can see this is not easy for you, Fergus, and I'm sorry if I was not taking you as seriously as the moment requires', she closed her hand around his, 'Exactly because I have noticed your struggle, I want to be sure you're not forcing yourself into this. You don't have to do anything just because I-'

'I need you'.

He spoke so suddenly, reaching out for her hand with both of his, that she was startled, 'Whoa, Tiger'.

'I've reached a point of no return', he was assertive, 'We're close and still nothing happens. I mean, _things_ happened, but not the things I wanted to. Of course, we've been nice and fluff, and we have the cutest daily routine, but I yearn for your body against mine and-'

He noticed her eyes were not on his face, and realized the reason.

His robe had opened a bit with his excited speech, showing some shoulder.

He pulled the robe close again, 'My eyes are over here'.

She pouted.

'I'm sorry', he squinted, keeping the robe in place like a prudish lady, 'Didn't intend on distracting you'.

'Why not?', she leaned her head, 'You went to the lengths of presenting special dishes for me while wearing a robe – and now I wonder if it's just a robe and nothing else, by the way –, but don't intend on showing some skin?'

'If I didn't know better, I'd say you are the kind who appreciates _risqué_ '.

'That's why we date, baby. To find out those little surprising things about our partner'.

'We already live together'.

'We can't let the fact we already have some intimacy to mess with our sense of adventure', she smiled at his appalled reaction, 'There's always a new layer to find out in another person', the smile turned into a smirk, 'There's always a new layer to find out in ourselves, in fact'.

He contemplated what she said for some moments.

'In that case…', he pulled the robe slightly open at the shoulder, again, 'I'm game'.

The gesture had taken him some braveness, even with her reassuring words.

He still thought at any moment she could change her mind about this.

'I'll appreciate everything you decide to show me', she turned her hand to make that intimate caress in his palm, 'I'm quite open-minded'.

He groaned at the sensation.

She persisted in the caress, her face showing she knew exactly the effect it had in him.

'Stop it, Sara', he forced himself to say, not moving a bit, 'No one likes a tease'.

'You're right', she answered, letting go and getting up, 'Enough of it'.

His eyes widened.

Had he just pushed her away?

Crowley couldn't decide if he should apologize – even not knowing exactly what he had done wrong – or confront her, and he guessed he didn't have much time to think if he wanted to salvage the situation.

'Give me some minutes', she interrupted his inner struggle, 'I'll take a shower and change into something more comfortable. Then we can go on'.

Xxxx

When Sara was back to the living room, she was wearing a robe of her own.

Despite his nervousness, Crowley could feel his erection immediately reacting to the fact she was mirroring his attire.

He had dreamed about her being willing, but he still couldn't quite believe it was happening.

One more time, he thought of how being almost human was stressful. He wondered how people could live decades while doubting themselves at every step. That was one of the reasons he sold his soul – to have something so impressive no one could make him feel humiliated or dejected about it ever again.

His twisted soul lacked empathy and should have freed him from caring for other people's opinions. However, time showed he easily reverted to humanity: some group work with the Winchesters and Castiel, some obviously fake caring words from his mother and there he went, again, turned into a love-sick puppy, running up and down in hopes to please.

Sara sat by his side on the immense sofa, and he tried to get out of his bad memories.

The moment his eyes started roaming on her, any dark thoughts were pushed aside. His mind was filled with the image before him – the legs partially visible, the peekaboo of her chest when she breathed and the cloth moved, her eyes showing appreciation for him.

 _It's really happening._

He was glad she had decided to approach him in the sofa where they had snuggled that night he was sick. It was like signaling she considered it the right place to pick on from where they stopped.

She broke the silence, 'If you don't mind, I have some questions'.

He blinked to focus, 'You may try to extract some rational information from me, now. But it won't be easy'.

(He would have answered anything without much thought, at that point, but she didn't have to know it.)

'It's nothing too complicated, but important to me', she sat more comfortably on the sofa, what meant her body relaxed in an inviting way, 'Is your name really _Fergus_? I want to know if it's ok to call you this when we're intimate'.

Crowley was surprised.

It was very considerate of her to think of it, in fact.

'Well thought', he praised through a dry throat, 'Yes. It is'.

'Better'.

'Used to it?'

'I like it', she smiled fondly, 'It suits you'.

He gave an almost shy smile.

He never liked his name. He made sure to change it as soon as he could.

But now, he would never feel the same about it.

'Second question', she resumed speaking, 'Is this happening because we have an easy chemistry, isn't it? It's not for some sense of gratitude related to how generous and cute I am?'

'Well, I am grateful, you are generous and you are cute…'

'But you want to have sex with me out of it?'

'No', he frowned, accepting the truth would come out sooner or later, 'This comes a long way for me'.

'Really?', she grinned excitedly, 'How long? And I hope you don't say _first sight_ , because I remember you tried to insult me and threatened me with dismemberment'.

'You would be surprised at the things I've said to people I was attracted for', he crunched his nose in an apologetic face, then shrugged, 'I can't pinpoint exactly when it started. It was with a certain amount of shock that I realized I was spending a lot of my time thinking of you and the dirty things we could do around the house'.

(He had spent time in her bedroom, for example, his nose in her pillow and his hands on himself, but it was another thing she didn't need to know for now.)

' _Dirty things_?', she imitated his accent, 'You mean gardening?'

'Really, Sara?'

'Ah', she gave a cheeky grin, 'You mean redecorating'.

'Yes', he squinted, 'Redecorating your body with my lips and teeth'.

'Yummy', she moved, opening her legs seductively, 'Good to know we're in the same vibe'.

Crowley closed his legs to contain his erection.

Sara bit her lower lip.

Her arousal was evident.

'Do you have any condoms?'

'What?'

'That's my third question', she made a pensive face, 'Condoms. Preservatives. Rubbers. I don't know what you call it'.

'I know what you mean', he frowned, 'I just... I didn't think of it'.

That had been an oversight on his part.

He could tell her he didn't have any DSTs, but she had no reason to believe it.

He could tell her he couldn't have children, once he had chosen a vessel with a vasectomy, but she had no reason to believe that, either.

(Or understand the concept of _vessel_.)

Getting any kind of protection didn't' cross his mind because he never needed it. While he was a human, he didn't care; when he was a demon, whatever his vessel caught could be easily cured by his powers.

(He couldn't exclude the possibility of his forgetfulness been caused by an active subconscious that couldn't pass the opportunity to sabotage his hopes of sex happening tonight.

Being almost human was the proverbial pain in the ass.)

'That's all right', Sara said, 'Maybe it's better this way. There's a lot we can do without it'.

Crowley's mouth opened in surprise and arousal.

 _The no judgement attitude._

 _The possibilities it opened._

'I have one last question, and it's just curiosity, so you can refuse to answer', she waited for his nod to go on, 'When was the last time you had sex?'

He didn't answer immediately.

Memories of Lola came to mind.

Bad memories, again, trying to get him out of the moment.

'If you mean _sex_ in the general sense of having orgasm with someone's aid, it has been months'.

She was surprised, 'What's your other meaning for sex?'

 _Bollocks._

He had walked right into that one.

Sara didn't even have to go to big lengths to gather information from him.

It seemed every question she asked was not something he had thought over, much less had tried to put into words, before.

Well, time for letting things show.

'I suppose there's some kind of connection…', he hesitated, but made the effort to explain himself, '…that has been lacking in my previous experiences. Something intense, related to the physical act, but that stays afterwards. Usually, even the most engaging partners turn into insignificant when we're done. I wish there was more. That's what I'm looking for, I suppose'.

'You're not afraid it could happen to us?', she leaned towards him, 'That this sense of belonging could be weakened after we solve some of the tension?'

'I feel safe with you. What is stranger for me, I _trust_ you', he sighed, 'It's like there's a possibility of sex being part of it, not something apart from it', he spoke and closed his eyes in regret.

'What's wrong?'

He looked at her, 'I don't think I ever found someone who was into me in the same way I was into them', he made the munching face, 'I don't like talking about it'.

He didn't know why he was saying that.

It seemed important that she knew how dysfunctional his relationships – for the lack of a better name – had been, even if it hurt him to mention it.

'I am into you. A lot', Sara lifted a hand and rested it on the side of his face, 'You have to know it'.

She spoke and, not waiting for a reply, took his mouth with hers.

She started teasing, kind of massaging his lips with hers.

The sudden advance and electrical sensation took him by surprise, and he gasped in delight.

That was enough for Sara to introduce her tongue to the game, and Crowley moaned in appreciation, pulling her to him for a deep kiss.

His head was spinning, his thoughts a mix of _Finally!_ , _Please, don't stop_ and _Wow._

When their mouths parted, he let out a whiny sound and kept her close to his body, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.

She hugged him, 'Are you ok?'

He breathed deeply into her, 'I sound needy'.

'I like it', she answered, her hands sneaking between his shoulders and the robe to pull it off of him, 'It's hot'.

'You find my desperate longing hot?', he nuzzled her temple with his nose, 'Always knew you had a sadistic side'.

'Is it sadistic if my intention is to take you with me?'

He started moving from her to help with the robe, but she had other plans: as soon as enough skin was exposed, she started nibbling at his neck and shoulder.

Crowley shivered and leaned his head to give her as much access as possible.

He felt her tongue and her lips and her teeth and her hot breath, heard the aroused sounds she made and he was impossibly hard at her desire for him.

And, still, differently from what had happened for a good part of his existence, he didn't feel the urge to do something to take control. He was not anxious to make sure his pleasure was guaranteed. He even preferred that she commanded the action.

'You're so beautiful', Sara said between mouthfuls of him, her hands opening his robe further.

She was enjoying being in control.

It was perfect.

Her tongue felt the pulse at the base of his neck, 'I could look for something to not like in you', she lowered her head to explore his chest, 'I'm sure I'd never find a single thing'.

 _Wow._

He leaned on his back, exposing his body to her, 'Charmer'.

She stopped and knelt, taking her time to enjoy his nude form before her.

Their eyes met.

She took off her own robe in forceful gestures and threw it away with a flourish.

 _Wow._

'I have a taste for theatrics, too', she said in a sexy deep voice.

He grinned, 'It suits you'.

She answered resuming her assault to his body – this time tasting his nipples, then his stomach, then lowering down to his pubis.

He gasped and closed his eyes, the feathering touch of her cheek on his penis sending shocks of pleasure to his whole body.

And then he opened his eyes to look at her, because she was tracing every detail of his length with her tongue.

He had a privileged view of her back and rear while she explored his middle. The movements of her buttocks and the way her eyes travelled by his body, filled with lust, were the sexiest thing ever.

It was tease and satisfaction at the same time, and he wondered how it was possible to find something so special after centuries of existence.

Sara maneuvered shamelessly over him, going up again while tracing a path of wet kisses on his skin. Her hands teased his sides and nipples and, when their lips met again, someway her knee had found a sweet spot behind his scrotum, and she was making the exact amount of pressure for him to moan loudly.

Crowley was not used to be so passive. He felt safer being the dominant one, in bed. But there, with that woman, he didn't mind surrendering.

She could do anything to him, right now. Her possessiveness was the closest to Heaven he would probably get.

When their lips parted, she spoke into his ear, 'Will you give yourself to me?'

He tensed.

That was an interesting phrasing, considering he had just associated her with _heaven_ and _possession_ , and that was a line an angel could use to ask for permission to enter his vessel.

At his silence, she turned her face to look into his eyes.

There was something in those eyes that pulled him to her.

He had really reached a point of no return.

'Yes', he said, 'I'm yours'.

The leap of faith was taken.

'As Madonna taught us', she smiled a very human smile, full of affection and mischief, 'I'll justify your love'.

And she kissed him again, with that intensity that made his head reel.

So, there were no bad surprises, there.

Sara was human.

She wanted him.

She was not lying or playing games.

The new level of trust freed Crowley.

His hands grabbed her hips, making her gasp and moan at his grip.

(Well, he was good at it. He had been nervous, before, but he was talented and experienced, and he had every intention to repay her favors.)

His new attitude took things further, complementing her _gusto_ for being on top.

Their hips moved out of control, their legs entwined and her mouth devoured his while her middle rubbed against his length.

'If you keep doing this…', he said between smashing lips, '…first round is going to be quick'.

'I'd rather have quick wins than wait for the end of a lasting war'.

The answer got him by surprise and he laughed heartily.

Whatever focus he had maintained was over the moment he saw her smirk at his reaction.

He grabbed her cheeks and pulled her to pour into a new kiss everything she was making him feel.

The urgent but affectionate gesture took both of them unprepared, triggering their climaxes.

Sara pulled Crowley with her until both were lying on their sides and raised his leg for it to rest on her hip, keeping them as close as possible.

She bestowed kisses over his face, one of her hands on his hair, the other on his thigh; his nose grazed her face and his hand travelled by her side, feeling her breast and resting on the curve of her waist.

When most of the panting and light-headedness for the intensity of the orgasm were over, she snuggled against him and kissed tenderly the red marks she had left on his neck, 'Was it as good for you as it was for me?'

He chuckled, 'This sofa has just confirmed its spot as my favorite place in the entire world'.

'It's not a high-class hotel suite, but works well to what we need it for'.

'It seems any place would work well for you and me'.

'Oh, my God', her body shook with laughter, 'Your afterglow is corny? Would have never guessed!'

He scowled, 'Such a sensitive human, and sometimes such an idiot, Sara'.

'Lucky me you're always pretty, Fergus', she nose-kissed him.

'Stop it', he made an effort to keep the scowl but not to be out of her reach, 'I'm annoyed with your attitude'.

'Annoyed, and still pretty'.

She let out that beautiful laugh again, and he groaned, 'I can be _pretty annoying_ when I'm _annoyed_ , darling'.

'That's on me to change your mind, then'.

She smiled sweetly and leaned to kiss him with affection.

He sighed, accepting defeat.

When they parted his scowl was gone.

Crowley caressed her hair and felt the details of her face with his finger.

It was too tender of a gesture, but he couldn't help but doing it.

'You know the best part of you not being inside me, yet?', she asked, pecking his lips, 'I'm quickly getting ready to play again', she wriggled her hips, 'And we can do a lot of things to get to know the other better'.

He smiled, 'You said you were open minded'.

She bit her lower lip, 'And you said you've done unspeakable things'.

'Sounds promising that you kept that in mind', he turned serious, 'It's been wonderful so far'.

'And it just gets better from here, baby'.

xxx

And it got.

That night they explored many possibilities, once penetration was off the table.

(Speaking of table, it was one of the possibilities tested.)

Sara proved to be very creative, easy-going and resourceful when the subject was sex. Every round found them more familiar with the other's body and quickly aware of their reactions. They used tongues and fingers and any thing at hand, exploring and teasing and arousing, adventurous and shameless about their lust.

Crowley found out Sara, being a dominant lover, had a preference for sitting on his lap and commanding the action.

(At a certain point he sat on her lap, just to mock her, what started extracting giggles from both but ended up in a quite unexpected orgasm from him and a proud face from her.)

Late night, after a break for her to eat something and brush her teeth, she invited him to her bed, so she could have at least some hours of sleep before going to work.

He agreed wholeheartedly, ecstatic to finally have the opportunity to share her bed.

Crowley had barely got comfortable between the sheets when Sara entered the room and looked at him as if he was an unexpected gift.

She threw the covers aside, grabbed his hands with one of hers and held them over his head.

Then she straddled him, took his penis with her free hand and started rubbing its head against her clit.

She was sucking at his neck while doing it, so he was free to speak, 'Thought you wanted to sleep'.

'I need to sleep', she answered, panting, 'But I need you more'.

'You have me'.

She moved to look into his eyes.

Something magical happened.

Her hand was grabbing his with unexpected force. It was kind of violent – the same kind of raw thing he could see in her eyes.

However, her fingers were delicate around his hardening length. It was a kind of welcoming – the same perfect sensation that irradiated from the contact of his tip against her wetness.

That woman was the hottest thing in the world.

The perfect mix of lust and affection pushed his buttons, and Crowley got emotional.

To his utter despair, he lost himself in her eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

He didn't know exactly what he was going to say, but he supposed it would be, for starters, how wonderful and amazing she was; it probably included how perfect they were together; and it had a great chance of reaching the dangerous _l-_ word.

If things got really out of hand, he may ask her if she loved him.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so absurd.

Maybe it was time to end, once and for all, his doubts about deserving to be loved.

A distant voice in his head was saying he was not thinking straight.

 _You don't ask these things._

So, he should say it.

 _That's it._

 _I'll say it._

However, his eyes filled with tears when he tried to speak.

Sara let go of his hands and pressed a finger on his lips, closing them.

She whispered, 'I know'.

She spoke and smiled.

It was followed by a kiss that just stopped when they needed air to recover from the orgasm.

Xxx

Next morning, Crowley found difficult to help Sara to get ready for work.

He tried to, but sharing a shower and not getting late were hardly agreeing decisions.

Even choosing her underwear for the day had been more entertaining than people with a time limit should indulge on.

They managed it, for some miracle, and their goodbyes were said at the door, with him enlacing her waist and looking at her with adoration.

'I don't know how things work in your planet…', she said, caressing his growing beard, '…but I'm not as spiritually evolved to not demand a monogamous relationship.'

 _Oh._

Was it what he thought it was?

'So…', she went on, uncharacteristically hesitant, 'I'd like to know if it would not be against your principles to be in a long-term and exclusive relationship with me'.

Yes, it was what he thought it was.

'The rules of the place I came from don't matter anymore', he smiled, 'I can't think of anything but exclusivity with you'.

She grinned, 'That's a deal, then'.

And that deal was the kind that must be sealed it a kiss.


	7. Love comes quickly

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 7: Love comes quickly**

 _You can live a life of luxury  
If that's what you want  
Taste forbidden pleasures  
Whatever you want_

 _You can fly away to the end of the world  
But where does it get you to?  
'Cause just when you least expect it  
Just what you least expect_

 _Love comes quickly, whatever you do  
You can't stop falling_

Crowley was three blocks away from his and Sara's house when he turned on a well-known corner, slowed down the pace, silenced his cell phone and adjusted the groceries in one arm.

This path was not the shortest between the grocery store and home, but he didn't mind the extra walking.

(Bonus of being almost human: he had to walk a lot, and walking was a nice way to get his athletic calves back.)

His eyes softened when he saw who he wanted to see: Rosie, the Belgian Shepherd who never failed to greet him when he passed by her front yard.

Crowley approached the low fence and patted the excited animal, saying some nonsense with the exact tone of voice he wanted her to always remember him for.

He threw a cautious look around, then extracted a tennis ball from his coat pocket to throw it and begin their usual play of fetch.

The silenced phone guaranteed the dog's owners – a couple of nurses – would not be alerted of his presence if Sara called while they interacted. It happened once, and it had been ridiculous enough that he was forced to run to not be seen.

The nurses knew him – one was Sara's friend who had examined him when he appeared at her doorstep – but he preferred they didn't know he enjoyed playing with Rosie to the point he changed his way to do it.

People already thought he was a cinnamon roll without knowing the details; he didn't need any more evidences of his… _kinda_ kind heart.

(Sara, however, already knew about Rosie. The dog, not aware of his desire for a low profile, reacted to Crowley as if they were BFF every time he and Sara stopped by to chat with the nurses.

Saying the beast had _good taste_ or was his _true soulmate_ didn't work for the teacher, even if she enjoyed both excuses.)

The black dog ran to pick the ball and bring it back to him, tail waggling and affectionate hand licks at every turn.

Crowley kept throwing the ball, permitting the happiness of the moment invade him, as it had been happening for the last two years.

xxx

The grocery store owner had received some spices Crowley had ordered, and now he had with him things that promised to drive crazy the taste buds of the woman with whom he lived.

Cooking for her had started because he didn't need eating but had to pretend he was eating in front of her, so at least taking salt literally off the table was a must. With time he found out he liked the ritual required for cooking – from researching recipes and ingredients to choosing the best time for each dish, including the opportunity to proudly exhibit his knowledge and refinement.

Nowadays, it was a given that he would be the one ruling the kitchen.

xxx

Winter was ending in some days, and they would be soon back to their activities outdoors.

Neither Sara or he were exactly fans of the cold, and the return of the warmer days was what they wanted. Soon their garden would receive the care and attention it deserved, they would sit under the sun to have some quality time and it would be less painful to disentangle from each other in the mornings.

(He didn't really feel the cold that much, once he was not totally human; however, _disentangling_ was always bad, because being entwined with her proved to be one of his favorite things in this new life.)

xxx

Sara still was a dedicated teacher who hard-worked while home, but Crowley had managed her to compromise in taking what he called _healthy breaks_.

His proclaimed goal was to make sure she didn't tire herself too much, what could be done if he made her stop from time to time to eat or drink something.

His secret goal was to not be without her attention for too long.

(Yes, he was clingy. Live with that.)

He always had stocked at home the usual things to offer her to munch in the breaks – like chocolate and fruits – or the ingredients to prepare pies and cakes that could change her focus from the papers to him. Salt was not part of this because, to his utter surprise and pleasure, Sara thought it would be funny if she demanded his lips as a _side dish_ , and the breaks often included make-up sessions.

Sometimes he offered her liquids, too, like juices, tea or hot chocolate, but he took care of not doing it when she couldn't afford long pauses.

They made that deal because in the first time she thought offering liquids was innuendo and ended kind of _forcing_ some liquids out of him.

He still remembered the proud smirk on her face when she got up from her knees, cleaning the corner of her mouth dramatically, like a porn actress.

'There's something wrong, here', he breathed deeply to deal with his panting and looked down at his still exposed penis, 'You should be relaxing, not giving me a _happy ending_ '.

'Who said this is not my idea of relaxing?'

And that was why _offering liquids_ was not for the occasions when she was too busy.

xxx

Crowley learned to enjoy the outdoors, and even had accepted wearing t-shirts and hoodies. Sara gave him a pair of sunglasses as a gift, and he had to admit he didn't look half bad in them.

Now he knew his obsession with dark well-tailored clothes was more related to his need to feel dignified and important than with anything else, once he had money to buy fine informal clothes but just chose not to do it.

Nowadays he had a full closet of sportswear and had plenty of knowledge on the best labels on the market, much to Sara's amusement.

xxx

Even with the possibilities offered by the outdoors, watching movies snuggled on the sofa was still in the top of his list as _how to spend the perfect day_.

Their tastes were not exactly alike: Sara was more into science fiction, old comedies, literary adaptations and bad horror movies, while classics and chick flicks moved Crowley to tears. They had complete respect for the other preferences and managed to watch almost anything together.

Part of the fun was watching the other, by the way.

First time he cried in front of her because of a movie he tried to hid it keeping extraordinarily quiet. He hoped she didn't look at him and his tears went unnoticed.

However, Sara already knew him enough to find strange that he remained so silent – even while watching a movie –, saw his raw emotions exposed and pulled him to her for soothing kisses and words.

He should be annoyed at her patronizing attitude: she called him _cute_ and said everything would be all right, as if he was a child deluded by a fictional work.

However, both knew it was a game of showing how much she cared, and he couldn't be really annoyed by that.

xxx

Besides, living together gave him plenty of opportunities for revenge (whatever it meant, in that context).

Finding out her guilty pleasures and using them against her was the easiest way for it.

Since Crowley knew Sara had a penchant for Madonna, he learned various lyrics by heart and quoted them at every opportunity. More than that, sometimes he would disturb their routine with an improv show.

(The best one to date was singing and dancing _Lucky Star_ while wearing just his black boxes and socks. The woman couldn't decide if she was indignant or aroused, and he didn't manage to end the performance, such hungry eyes she made at him.)

There were simpler times, though, when perfecting the Friends' catchphrase _How you doin'?_ was enough to extract a smile from her even if the day at work had been particularly difficult.

(Once he went to the school for them to run some errands together and, instead of waiting outside, as he said he would do, decided to surprise her, waiting at the teacher's room for her to appear after class. The conversation with her Principal had been very enlightening, but the _Awww_ everybody did when she opened the brightest of smiles at his Joey's impersonation was the highest point.)

xxx

Being human, Sara fell asleep in Crowley's arms in a daily basis.

Not being totally human, he didn't sleep much; so, he used the opportunities to enjoy their closeness and stare as much as he wanted to.

(And he wanted _a lot_.)

Things had never changed between them – in the sense that Sara was playful and tender during sex, afterwards and in their general interactions – and still they had changed – in the sense that he felt completely at home with her, no matter the situation.

Sometimes she napped while they were lounging in the sofa. When it happened, he pulled her to lay on him, opened his legs to involve her body with his and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. She not just accepted the new position, but usually sighed into his neck and let out a content purr.

It melted his heart every time.

He wondered if it meant every purr of hers made him a bit less demon.

xxx

Crowley didn't have much time to worry about expressing his feelings for Sara.

They had been retiring for the night – together, in her bedroom, as they had been doing for some days – while chatting over something trivial, he had just teased her and he called her _love_ without thinking.

He had used that word as a meaningless pet name for a lot of people, since he had become a demon. However, they were in a relationship, he knew very well how much she hated empty pet names, and there was no way he could, at that point, explain how special she was to him.

He realized immediately how inappropriate the word must have sounded and froze on the spot, waiting for the backlash.

Sara took some terrifying moments to react, just standing there and looking him square in the eye.

Both were wearing pajamas – he, black silk ones; she, red silk ones he had given her – and he couldn't refrain from pressing his lips together in hopes she saw his regret and let it go without much of a fuss.

His trademark _yes, sometimes I'm stupid_ face usually worked.

She approached and reached out to caress his jaw, 'It's ok if I can say it, too'.

'Pardon?'

'It's ok for you to call me _love_ if I can call you back'.

He frowned in a ridiculously obvious incredulity, 'You want to?'

'The truth must be said', her hands rested on his chest.

'I thought you didn't believe in…', he made a vague gesture, '…you know what'.

'I never said I didn't believe', she smiled, the hands going up in a caress, 'I said I had never felt it'.

Now he had his _stupid face_ on – mouth slightly open and eyes fixed on hers, not a chance of saying something coherent any soon.

'I think deep inside you already know it', Sara got serious, 'But you deserve to hear it', her hands rested on his cheeks, 'I love you'.

Crowley's eyes opened wide.

Even with all the things she had told him so sincerely and fluently since they met, hearing the old three words caught him unprepared.

And that's why he started crying.

Always the one who knew what to do when his feelings got out of hand, Sara pulled him into a hug and waited patiently for him to calm down, after as much sobbing as he needed.

When he was able to speak, his first words in her ear were, 'You're stuck with me forever'.

'Yay!', was her immediate answer.

xxx

If someone asked him what the best part of living with Sara was, maybe the first thing to come to Crowley's mind would be the romantic moments.

He suspected he had a fragile soul that needed to be often reminded that there was someone who loved him truly, and those untamed moments of exchanging sweet words and gestures of open affection had an unpredictable positive effect on him. He could not imagine living without tender confessions and loving touches, anymore.

(Sara quickly realized he was corny. Luckily, her standard reaction was to treat him as if he was a Care Bear – a creature that may, in some bizarre reality, be dangerous, but was fluffy and cute in this one.)

xxx

However, a huge part of their relationship was about fun, and he didn't think any less of it. Specially in what regarded sex.

Since their first night they had been intimate in every available room and surface of the house, with some very interesting results.

(He had been right when he said any place would work for them.)

Some spots proved more difficult than others, but nothing that some effort couldn't turn at least into a funny memory.

To his complete delight, she included her sex toys in their play very early on.

He liked sex toys. He even had some of his own, since they turned easy to buy in the last decades of the XXth century. However, share them – the thing you have to use theoretically by yourself – was a proof of trust and a deep wish for intimacy, and Sara did it as soon as possible.

Crowley was surprised at Sara's openness about the toys, and not because they existed, once he had already seen them in her bedroom during one of his unauthorized early incursions there; his surprised was because he didn't expect her to bring them on so soon.

xxx

It reminded him that in the very next day of their first night together she arrived home from school with a pack of condoms, showing them off to him as a proof that she was eager to have him inside her.

Her proud smirk turned into shock when he showed her the condoms _he_ had bought, making clear they really thought alike.

(They laughed at the 'coincidence', and then had a mocking fight over whose condoms they would use first.)

xxx

They stopped using condoms when he managed to produce half forged exams that proved he was clean and had a vasectomy.

( _Half-forged_ meant they said the truth but weren't done by any regular means, once he couldn't risk a complete examination of his vessel, not knowing what a doctor would find out.)

It was worth every penny he paid. The moment Sara saw the results she thanked him for being such a gentleman and care about her worries enough to bring her such information, and threw him on the big sofa for a first unprotected round.

xxx

Crowley wondered how low he had to be, in his human life, to think that having a big penis was what a man needed to feel accomplished. Especially now, with a healthy sex life going on, he thanked himself for choosing a vessel that was average, making Sara comfortable to try anything that went by their heads and involved getting things into things.

It was incredible how his perspective had changed.

If this was a fever-induced dream, he didn't mind not waking up again, ever.

xxx

Crowley ended his time with the feisty dog with a snack to make sure, one more time, that he was not just _that man who now and then patted her_ , and resumed walking home.

He felt content and light.

He even greeted some people he passed by.

After two years, everybody in the neighborhood knew the grouchy man who lived with the lovely teacher in the pretty house with a beautiful garden.

That grouchy man who, to everybody's utter surprise, helped the lovely teacher to make astonishing decorations for school events while turning said teacher into the happiest woman in the state.

(That last part no one has ever told him, obviously, but he knew people would agree.

His habit of taking her to the door every morning for a parting kiss was not just because it was a delicious routine. He wanted to mark his territory, too, broadcasting to the world they were an item.

A very well-adjusted item, thank you very much.)

Two years of happiness and new priorities: living a day at a time, enjoying Sara's company and finding new pleasures in human existence.

It had not been an easy process. When his doubts about her intentions were over, he had to deal with his doubts about his own capacity to accept the limitations of being almost human. He had expected to be bored and frustrated, unsatisfied with his current situation and eager to be back to his hellish ways. He had been quite sure it was a matter of time for him to miss life as a demon and look for ways to revert to his old self.

But it didn't happen. He had found his other half.

The precious human woman who lived with him had a sex drive that matched his own and, even if she didn't have the same stamina, she compensated being more than glad to tease and play games that made any wait worth it.

Her sense of humor was not as sarcastic as his, but she enjoyed his jokes, got his references and didn't hold it against him when he crossed any lines and was a bit more aggressive than necessary.

They shared some tastes in Art, culinary, decoration and pop culture, and were totally tolerant to the things they didn't share, once seeing the other having fun was great, too.

(And provided priceless blackmail.)

There was a time when he believed the kinds of Dean Winchester – confident, aggressive, cocky – were what complemented him. Getting to know Sara forced him to admit he needed a completely different type of partnership.

Now and then Crowley got weakened or slightly sick. He found out that eating something was enough to put his vessel back on track.

Now and then he did revert to his old ways and saw himself menacing with torments some stupid, prejudiced or unnecessarily cruel human who crossed his path. Sara was able to, with placating words or just her levered presence, vanish his demonic setbacks.

About pure and undisputed evilness: wasn't that attractive, anymore.

Now he was all about the little things that created happiness for him and his love.

Crowley walked a bit faster.

He missed home, and turned the next corner to enter an alley that shortened the path.

He stopped in sudden shock.

There was a black Impala 67' parked ahead.

He would recognize it anywhere.

That car, hid so close to where he was currently living, could mean just one thing: there was at least one Winchester around.

However, the car was not the only thing to shock him.

There was a petit redhead standing beside it.

She had his back to him and seemed to be looking attentively to the main street ahead, wringing her hands anxiously.

He couldn't help but smiling to himself at the familiar gesture.

No matter what she had done to him – and she had done some nasty things, from mistreating and abandoning him as a child to betraying and trying to kill him as a demon –, he never quite quit yearning for her affection.

Probably it was his annoying resistant humanity, never completely gone, that made him have a soft spot for that literal witch: every time she went away he wished she would stay; every time she asked something of him, even knowing she was thinking just about herself and using him, he wanted to do it for her.

It made him happy to hear she had been proud of him.

At some point he found out the only person she had ever loved was a boy called Oskar. He learned that she couldn't permit herself to love her own son, once he was the living memory of her weakness. He learned that she had abandoned him because she wanted to be a powerful witch, and having a child – conceived from a human man in natural circumstances, and not in some pagan orgy – was not the way to do it.

And, even after knowing all that, he died a bit inside when she said she was disappointed on him.

' _You've got the crown but you're no ruler, not really. A sad, bored wee boy on the throne'._

Crowley didn't have it clear at that point how really sad and bored Hell made him, but her words hit where it hurt.

(Would she have one of those mothers' things – the ability to see deep into their children's hearts?

Even if she didn't really act as a mother?

Even if he didn't really have a heart?)

Now that Crowley was more human than ever, maybe more human than he had ever been, including his life in Scotland, there was an unmistakable warmth in his chest at the fact that Rowena was not dead.

He walked closer, seizing the opportunity to look at her and digest some of the emotion. It was a matter of time for something to denounce his presence and he had no idea what she would do when she laid her eyes on him, or what he should do.

He wondered if she was waiting for the Winchesters, if this was just a coincidence or if they had been looking for him, showing off their fake FBI identities around the neighborhood and asking about...

A demon? Not likely.

A criminal?

Crowley realized it would be a good idea to call Sara and warn her of what was happening. He had already told her some stories about the FBI masquerades of the two tall and handsome guys who had begrudgingly worked with him, but he never really expected her to face them.

Unfortunately for his intentions, the sudden movement to reach the cellphone attracted the attention of the woman some steps ahead.

She turned.

They were face to face.

The witch just stared, mouth open in shock, for several moments.

Then, she stretched her arms towards him, 'Fergus?'

The word that always escaped him as a greeting came out, 'Mother'.

Her eyes filled with tears and her hands started trembling.

He wanted to make some derisive gesture at her theatrics, but his eyes filled with tears too, ruining his intentions of mocking.

Suddenly, it was clear how similar they were: two passionate human beings, eager for love, not really able to find it anywhere and still never accepting it could exist between them.

' _It's not easy being a parent, knowing when to hug your child, or when to kill him'._

No, it was not easy. He failed with Gavin, too.

Rowena considered her son nothing but a hindrance, so she gave him whisky when he cried as a baby, tried to sell him for three pigs and left him to his own devices as soon as she had a better choice. When Crowley had a son, he simply neglected the boy, not caring for what he did, as long as he was alive.

It was a cycle of bad parenting. He did his part mending some of it with Gavin in the short period of time the boy was brought to the future, but it surely had not been enough for Crowley to forgive himself completely.

Once Rowena told him he was like a tumor, useless and always coming back. He, being a demon, and she, being a basically immortal witch, knew it meant some things were annoying and unnecessary, could be easily cured by their powers, and still came back insistently, as if Fate intended them there just to pester.

He never intended to be a tumor. He never intended to pester.

He had searched her when he felt it would be safer keeping her close.

Maybe he was deluded thinking he needed her as an ally, when in fact he craved her respect.

She used her magic to preserve her body from decaying, the same way he had looked for vessels that could keep him at the age he last believed he had some lucidity, and both of them suffered again and again with their fear of abandon, betraying before they could be betrayed.

Well, he was not that person, anymore. He had moved on, and to a better place.

The witch advanced, seemingly mesmerized by the pool of tears in his eyes.

However, she stopped just before she reached him, curled her hands and lowered her arms as if regretting her actions.

Tears ran on her face and she joined her hands over her heart, 'I wish we could…'

'I would not mind a welcoming gesture', Crowley hurried to say, then shrugged, ashamed of being so obviously emotional, 'It's not every day a man who considered his mother dead can meet her again'.

She leaned her head, moved by his words, 'I'm not really here'.

'Pardon?'

'This is a projection'.

'Oh', he extended his arm and his hand went through her shoulder.

He could feel her eyes on him, a mix of incredulity and awe.

It's kind of what he is feeling, too.

'The projection is very good', he praised sincerely, then realized something, 'You unlocked your powers?'

'Yes!', she opened a wide grin, giving a little jump in joy, then made her trademark proud face, hands on her hips, 'You have no idea the things I've been doing'.

'I'm sure they're beyond any stretch of my imagination', it was his time to make a proud face, 'Congratulations'.

'Really?', Rowena was surprised, 'You're not accusing me? You must know it was not an easy thing to accomplish'.

'I guess some heads have fallen off', he shrugged, 'But you are a gifted witch and worked hard since forever'.

'You're saying I deserve it?'

'Yes', he smirked, 'And even if you didn't, it was a matter of time for you to find a way around any… obstacles'.

She turned very serious, 'I kind of dreamed of this'.

'Pardon?'

'I thought you were dead. I didn't accept it for a while, but then I did and went on with my life', her eyes set on his, 'But three days ago I saw you in a dream'.

He raised his brows, 'It must have felt like a nightmare'.

'No!', she raised her hands as if to touch him, but remembered it was useless and lowered them again, 'I never forgot you', she spoke, agitated at his attitude, 'I did some… very _unconventional_ things to bring you back from the dead, when I first knew about it. I unlocked my powers because I wanted to have a chance to do something for you'.

Crowley didn't find what to say. He knew she probably had other reasons, but hearing that he was at least part of it was enough to touch his heart.

Rowena raised her chin in annoyance, 'I just gave up because Death herself told me she would not bring you back'.

' _She_?'

'Billy, the Reaper, is the new Death'.

His mouth formed a surprised _O._

He liked Billy. Every time they interacted, she made clear she respected him for his integrity. Given enough time and opportunity, he was quite sure something would have happened between them.

'Now I see why she would not bring you back', Rowena said, rolling her eyes, 'It was just wordplay, once you were not gone'.

They exchanged knowing glances.

'So', he cleared his throat, 'What did you see in your dream?'

She changed her stance, obviously pleased to indulge in the narrative, 'I was by myself, walking on some meadows. It was cloudy and windy and cold, and I felt lonely. I had never felt lonely in my life, Fergus, but since I was told you were dead, it was like I finally understood what you meant to me'.

He gulped down, not able to comment on that.

'And then I saw you, and you were exactly like this – alive and well. Peaceful', her eyes looked at him up and down, 'You were at a distance. You waved', her eyes settled on his face, 'It was not a farewell. It was a greeting'.

'So…', he spoke, 'You decided to follow your dreams and look for me again?'

'The feeling was too strong to be ignored'.

'And what about the Winchesters? Why are they here?'

Rowena seemed a bit uncomfortable, 'They… helped me to unblock my powers', she ignored the squint Crowley made at the idea, 'But they got in the way when I was trying to have Death's attention, and things got a wee out of hand'.

 _That_ scenario he could believe completely.

'They helped me cope when I thought there was no way to bring you back, Fergus. They were more understanding than I deserved, and since then I have worked with them when needed', she smiled sadly, 'As you would be probably doing if you were there'.

He opened his mouth in surprise at her statement.

And then he smiled, 'Yes, I probably would', he shrugged, 'Those charming morons'.

Encouraged by his reaction, she resumed her explanation, 'I tried a location spell, just for the sake of it, it pointed here', she gave a sideways glance to gather braveness for the next statement, 'I called them with the news and in five minutes Sam had hacked accounts based on some of your identities. He traced payments to the same area my spell pointed'.

He nodded, 'But why are you not here to hug your beloved son?'

She made an annoyed face, 'Obviously, being who they were, they left me behind and came to check by themselves'.

'And you, being who you are, didn't do exactly as you were told'.

'Of course not', Rowena pointed at the Impala, 'A well placed hex bag can solve anything'.

They shared new proud smirks.

Getting along was easier and easier.

'Oh, Fergus', she joined her hands over her heart, 'Believe me, I tried to convince them…'

'You're my mother. You have your rights', he pouted, 'Those hypocrites and their big speeches about family'.

She smiled fondly and was going to comment on that, but frowned and listened intently to something that just she could hear, then focused on him again, 'I have to go. No sense in the angel finding out I did this and telling on me'.

Crowley raised his brows, 'They won't hear from me, mother'.

'Oh, my son', she stood as closer as she could, 'There's something big happening. They're going to ask you to come with them', she was deadly serious, 'I have lied to you, before, about so many things, but I'm not lying now. I hope we can meet again before it's too late'.

'Too late for what?'

'I have to go', she repeated, anxious, 'I missed you, Fergus'.

And she disappeared.

Crowley stayed there, too shocked to react.

It was a lot to deal with: the knowledge that his mother was alive; the knowledge that the Winchesters were so close to him; the knowledge that something that may require his demonic presence was happening.

And, of course, the _feelings_.

So many of them.

Probably, too many.

He suddenly remembered that the Winchesters were around, that they were highly functional morons (Sam a bit better than Dean) and hurried to the main road, struggling to pick his phone to call Sara while not letting go of his prized spices.

Crowley groaned when he saw there were already five missed calls from her.


	8. The Flood

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 8:** **The flood**

 _Standing, on the edge of forever,  
At the start of whatever,  
Shouting love at the world.  
Back then, we were like cavemen,  
But we map the moon and the stars,  
Then we forgave them._

 _We will meet you where the lights are,  
The defenders, of the faith we are.  
Where the thunder turns around  
They'll run so hard we'll tear the ground away._

 _You know no one dies,  
In these love-drowned eyes,  
Through our love drowned eyes,  
We'll watch you sleep tonight._

 _Although no one understood  
We were holding back the flood,  
Learning how to dance the rain.  
We were holding back the flood  
They said we'd never dance again._

Crowley immediately called Sara back and started running with the phone on his ear.

' _Hey!'_ , she greeted him, _'Should I have texted you that we had an emergency? Did I have a chance of you stop petting_ that _bitch for a moment?'_

He slowed the pace, relieved. She didn't usually go for edgy jokes; if she was doing it, it meant she felt comfortable and was safe, 'Don't tell me you just called Rose a bad word in front of two mountains of plaid standing in our living room', he smirked, 'Or are they wearing suits?'

' _Yes, I did, and suits'_ , she sighed, _'That's what tipped me they could be the fake FBI agents you mentioned_ '.

He could hear the smirk in her voice and guess the confused frowns on the Winchesters' faces.

'I'm kind of disappointed they are not wearing their usual uniforms', he stood in front of the gate, 'How are they behaving? They didn't threat you, did they?'

' _No, they're quite nice after you know them a bit more. Nice but fussy'_ , there was a pause when he supposed she was throwing an open evaluating glance at her companions, _'I'm still disconcerted that I came to know some of your acquaintances_ '.

'We used to be besties, in fact'.

' _Really? Well, I suppose everybody may have a thing for lumberjacks'._

He smiled, wondering if the boys were still the same, and would be making their peculiar faces at that conversation – Sam appalled, Dean a mix of confused and bothered –, 'I'm glad they are being nice to you, love. It's not their standard _modus operandi_. But what was the fussy part about?'

' _They insist on treating me as if I had Stockholm syndrome. Would be annoying if it was not kind of cute. Hang on. What?_ ', a male voice was heard in the background, _'They want me to put you on speaker_ '.

'They have no respect for privacy', Crowley tsked, 'Do it, darling'.

' _Ok'_ , after a moment, she spoke again, _'Done'_.

'Hello, boys', he smirked, 'Eager to hear my voice?'

' _Crowley!'_ , the Winchesters exclaimed in unison.

'Why so surprised? Dean's _baby_ is parked close to my house and you're trying to throw _my baby_ against me. It means you already knew I was alive and kicking'.

' _We had a strong lead'_ , Sam said, as if it clarified anything, _'But it's different to hear you'_.

'I'm touched, Samantha'.

' _We need to talk_ ', Dean chimed in.

'That's a given'.

' _Are you bringing your damned ass here or not?_ ', the oldest brother growled.

'Dear Lord, Squirrel. I can see the smoke coming out of your ears from here'.

' _And what about my reproachful look at the nonsensical conversation?'_ , Sara interrupted, _'Can you see that, too?'_

'You're right. I owe you an explanation. No need for long words, teacher', there were some background noises, 'But I want guarantees'.

New noises, and Crowley wondered if Dean was breaking something.

' _Crowley'_ , Sam spoke out, _'We need you'_.

'Always the charmer, aren't you, Moose?', he didn't wait for an answer, 'Am I safe to go in, or first thing to happen when I put my feet inside is to be punched by your brother?'

' _He doesn't have any reason to do it'_ , Sam made a pause, _'For now'_.

'It would not be the first time I was mindlessly attacked'.

He heard Dean mumbling _Son of a bitch_ and _He deserved it every damn time_ in what must be his way of explaining his reactions to a probably bewildered Sara.

' _Dean'_ , Sam said between gritted teeth, in his trademark move to warn his brother he must calm down, _'We're serious, Crowley. There's something big happening and we need all the help we can get'_.

'I guessed so', he sighed, 'I'm going'.

Crowley turned off the cell phone, put it on his pocket, went to the door and opened it with his key.

As expected, the Winchesters were surprised to see him enter as a normal person, and not materialize from thin air as they were used to.

(And even more surprised that he walked through the demon trap they had drawn under the doormat with nothing more than a bit of discomfort).

See their disconcerted faces while pointing guns at him was already worth the risk.

Sara, who was sitting at the sofa, got up and made her _annoyed teacher_ face, 'May I greet him?'

 _Oh, the sassiness._

The brothers exchanged a glance, lowered the guns and nodded at her.

Sara went to Crowley, they pecked lips and she took the groceries from him while he took off his coat, 'Want me to be a good housewife and put this away while you talk to your _besties_?'

'No need to, love', he rested a hand on her arm, 'We're not sparing them the fact I am the housewife here'.

'They told me you are an evil creature and I didn't quite believe them', she raised a brow, 'Don't make me reconsider'.

The couple exchanged smiles and went together to the kitchen.

Dean blinked, recovering from the surprise before his brother, 'I like her'.

Crowley grinned proudly, 'Welcome to the club'.

xxx

Some hours later, the boys were updated in the essentials of his life with Sara (that he appeared at her doorstep with no explanation, that she initially just took pity on his delirious state but ravishing looks and that time proved he deserved her attentions).

In short, that he was living a mostly normal human life with a certainly great partner.

Crowley was updated in the essentials of the last two years (Lucifer and Mary locked in the parallel universe, Jack, Michael, Rowena, Lucifer, Gabriel, Jack, Castiel, Mary, Bobby, Charlie, Michael, Lucifer, Rowena and something about two Michaels, one crazier than the other, living in the same realm).

In short, it was the eternal cycle of entities who live and die and live again in the Winchesters' convoluted story.

Sara listened to everything with focused attention, her forehead frowned while trying to follow such a bizarre narrative.

Crowley was not surprised she didn't interrupt them at any point with the predictable _Wait! Demons and angels exist?_ thing. She was quick minded enough to hear what was being said and try to fit the pieces together.

However, he was a bit worried about what she had been thinking of the news. It was the first time his past came up beyond what he chose to tell.

Well, he would know her thoughts and feelings on it as soon as he was able to get rid of the hunters.

'Heaven is still rebuilding itself and Hell has been chaotic for some time', Sam finished his explanation on what they were doing there, 'And that is why we're after any help we can get'.

'So, you want to use my demon powers to make an _invocation_ of Amara and Chuck, in hopes to defeat Mick and Micker?'

'We don't like it as much as you', Dean chimed in, always the one to be gruffy, 'But it may be our only chance against the evil archangel twins'.

'I see', Crowley said, occupying the sofa, where Sara already was, 'I'm sorry to disappoint, but as I have heavily implied, I don't have any powers, anymore'.

The brothers paused, indecisive for a moment, but the human woman squinted at him.

'What?', Dean almost jumped, pointing at her, 'What that look means?'

'Is there something you're hiding?', Sam was a bit more forceful, 'It's not time for games, Crowley'.

'Well', he ruminated a bit, deciding not to look at Sara, 'I may or may not have accelerated a cure in the child who scrapped his kneecap in the school's play, and I may or may not have used telekinesis to create a light headache in a horrible Physics teacher, and maybe I have pulled the covers without moving from her side after we had just-'

'It means he may have some of his said powers', Sara interrupted, patting his hand before he revealed too much, 'I noticed something was amiss when things collapsed around us if he was under stress, but never thought much of it. Now it makes sense', she raised a brow at him, ' _Alien_ '.

Crowley smiled at the familiar pet name.

Dean made a face at their reactions.

Sam inclined forward, intrigued, 'What is happening, Crowley?'

'She guessed I was an alien because-', he trailed off under the unamused looks on his attempt at avoiding a straight answer, 'Well, I really don't know', he shrugged, 'Every now and then I can have some fun being invisible or moving things at a distance…'

He threw a hesitant glance at Sara.

She had the looks of a woman who suddenly understood _oh, so many things_.

Crowley took her hand in his, in a barely conscious plead for reassurance.

Her reaction was to tighten the grip, showing she was supporting him.

He had to clear the emotional knot in his throat to go on, 'I can't predict when I'll be able to use my powers. I don't know the extent of them. I don't understand why I survived. I don't even know how I came to be here in the first place', now he looked at the woman by his side, 'Just for the records: I'm not complaining', he looked at the men again, 'But, as I said, I'm probably not useful to you, now'.

'Well, Cas will say that', Dean got up from the chair he had taken, 'You come with us'.

'Speaking of him', Crowley asked, remaining on the sofa and decided to gain as much time as he could, 'Where is the Beyoncé to my Jay-Z?'

Sara let out a small amused sound at that, and Crowley smirked proudly to himself.

 _At least she has been finding it funny._

'He is at the bunker', Sam answered, then made that insufferable hesitant face – the one he used when he might say something that will hurt someone's feelings, 'With Rowena'.

Crowley didn't answer immediately.

He didn't trust his voice to do so without revealing too much.

After some moments, he spoke, 'I'm glad she is alive'.

Sam smiled, relieved, 'She thought you were dead, like us. But she never really gave up. At the first hint you could be alive she contacted us for help to find you'.

'Who is Rowena?', Sara was eager to know.

'His mother', Dean spoke, more than glad to give the information that, from his point of view, must be bombastic.

Sara looked at Crowley, mouth open in shock, 'Is she?'

He gave her the smallest nod he could manage, not sure of her reaction at the fact he had a close relative he never mentioned.

The woman let go of his hand and got up from the sofa, 'Where is this bunker of yours?'

Sam straightened, feeling something good was on the way, 'It's in Lebanon'.

'Kansas?'

'Yes'.

She nodded decisively and looked at Crowley, who was still stubbornly sitting down, 'It's some hours from here. I'll call school and then we're packing'.

'Wait a minute!', now he got up, 'When did we decide we were going?'

'We have to', she turned to him, 'If what they're saying is true – and you haven't contradicted a single word until now – life as we know it is at risk'.

'Don't _star trek_ me'.

We can't just pretend there is nothing happening'.

'Yes, we can'.

Dean chimed in, 'We will all be enslaved or die if Crazy and Crazier Michael are not stopped'.

'If there's a slight chance you can help, _you_ must go', she told him, 'And I'm not leaving you alone, so _we_ are going'.

The way she simply stated that they stick together, no matter what, almost disarmed him.

 _Almost._

'Listen to me, darling', Crowley breathed deeply and rested his hands on her forearms, already knowing by her squint that he was very close to dangerous territory when he used pet names in the middle of a serious conversation, 'You don't know these guys. Everyone who helps them dies'.

'That's what happened to you?'

'Exactly'.

'So…', Sara made a thoughtful face, '… you're the _living_ proof of that?'

There was a moment of silence.

He could almost hear the snickering from the brothers.

'I died for those morons once, and I still have no idea how I'm here today', he stood by her side, pointing accusatorily to the Winchesters, 'The moment we agree with this, no matter how much care we take, someone will not be back'.

'You're being unnecessarily cruel', she frowned, seeing the others men's faces (Sam, upset; Dean, angry), 'Besides, if people die on them and are back again, like yourself, it means we have a chance'.

'Sara is right, Crowley', Sam approached them, 'We stand a chance to do something to save our world and the people we love who are still here'.

Crowley grimaced, 'Don't you dare make moose puppy eyes at me'.

He did, obviously.

And Sara made a quite similar face.

'Bollocks', the ex-King of Hell turned and went to their room to pack, defeated.

'No tricks, Crowley!', Dean yelled after him, 'Don't make us test our new Holy water cannon on you'.

xxx

'I got three days off', Sara entered their bedroom some minutes later, after making the call to school, 'I don't have any experience, but I hope it's enough to save the world'.

Crowley had decided to pout and cross his arms, standing in the middle of the room and ready to reopen the issue of getting involved in whatever was happening. So, he just glared at her in silence.

She realized his state of mind as soon as she looked at him.

Quickly taking a decision on how to react, she closed the door calmly, sat on the bed and started, conversationally, 'So, no alien, but _a demon_ '.

He pouted even more, if that was possible, 'See how close you were to guessing the truth?'

'Oh, yes', she went on in the same nonchalant tone, 'I have even called you a _crow_ ', she squinted at him, ' _Crowley_ '.

His eyes widened.

'What's wrong?', she asked, immediately dropping the façade and worrying about him.

'Nothing', he moved his shoulders as if rearranging himself, 'It's just the first time you say it'.

Sara smirked, 'Did you just have a reaction at me using your street name?'

He made an over dramatical gesture, 'I'm shocked at your tendency to sexually objectify me'.

Sara crossed her arms, 'You're avoiding the subject'.

'Would you mind clarifying which is the subject?', he almost growled, 'There are too many possibilities, given the obvious lack of discretion from the morons currently in our living room'.

'They are in the guest room, in fact', she corrected, 'They asked to change'.

Crowley crossed his arms, mirroring her, 'Really, Sara?'

The woman shrugged innocently.

Realizing attitude would not get him anywhere, he uncrossed his arms, stuffed his hands on the pockets of his trousers and made an effort to sound diplomatic, 'Maybe you should choose where I begin my tale'.

She nodded and leaned her head, pondering.

He waited, fighting a smile at how easy she made things.

'If I got the story right, you are a demon. The King of Hell for some time, to be more specific'.

'Yes'.

'To be a demon, I suppose there's a certain degree of evilness to be reached'.

'Yes'.

'To be King of Hell, I suppose the evilness must be in a greater scale'.

'Not really', he scrunched his nose, 'As I told you once, I was at the right place at the right time and was offered the position. All it took was being greedy'.

'I remember that story. It's the one you told me when I talked about the offer I refused, isn't it?', he nodded and she went on, 'Still, I suppose there's evil involved', he nodded again, 'I've seen you annoyed and menacing, but never really evil', she frowned, 'Are you doing things behind my back?'

'No! I'm not. I swear'.

Crowley spoke and knelt before her.

It was an unthinkable gesture years ago, and maybe he still would not do it in front of any one; however, he felt safe enough with Sara to not fear being kicked in the face or humiliated at such an open display of vulnerability.

'When I woke up I was disoriented. I had killed myself to complete a ritual to close an interdimensional door. I thought my Fate was to have Lucifer kicking my empty vessel in useless fury because I had trapped him there', his eyes never left hers, 'I threated to dismember you because the only guess I could make when I saw you was that someone had me imprisoned and you were there to torture me', he took her hands, 'I couldn't have been more wrong'.

She smiled hesitantly, her eyes studying his face, 'If this is a _vessel_ …'

'It's not my original body', he explained, eager to make her understand, 'I always looked for men who resembled me and had no personal attachments. This is a literary agent from New York', he smiled shily, 'Given the right circumstances, you could have met'.

'Maybe we did. I went to New York to study Literature in my middle twenties', she raised her brows, 'I cancelled interviews with literary agents because I changed my project'.

Crowley gulped down, surprised, 'Do you think…?'

'That Fate made me cross paths with this body again, now that it was occupied by a mind that matched mine?', she shrugged, 'Who knows? Maybe I'm that lucky. Or blessed'.

He kissed her hands, 'If I had a soul, I would be the one blessed'.

She frowned, 'Demons don't have souls?', he opened his mouth to answer, but she resumed speaking, 'Oh, forget it. We'll have time to talk about it later. Let's pack'.

Crowley rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm but both got up and went for their bags.

'Just for the records', he said, starting to select some clothes, 'I still think of torturing people, now and then. But just bad people'.

'It doesn't seem very _demonic_ '.

'I'm clever. I don't know how, but I gained the opportunity for a new start, and I'm not throwing it away'.

'That's good to hear', she stopped, hands on her hips and a pensive look, 'Do you know their bunker?'

'Quite through'.

'What kind of place is it? It has water and other civilized things or we should pack as if we were going to hike in the mountains?'

'I'm being forced to meet my devilish mother and an aloof angel of the Lord and you're worried if you should take your bikinis with you?'

'You mean my mother-in-law and agent Beyoncé?', she grinned when he rolled his eyes, 'We'll deal with any problems if it comes to it'.

' _If_?', he stopped gathering things while she resumed selecting hers.

'I don't know what is ahead. Maybe we reach the… _bunker_ , you help save the world and we come back to our lives as if nothing happened – well, not _nothing_ , once you would be savior of the world and I'd have met an angel of the Lord, God himself and my mother-in-law', she made a signal for him to get the things she was putting on the bed, 'Maybe nothing bad happens, and there'll be no problems to deal with'.

They worked together for some time, quickly deciding what they would get with them.

When the bags were done, Sara stretched her back, 'I just have to pick my meds and our toothbrushes and we're ready'.

'Wait', he surprised her, 'There's something I want to tell you before we go'.

She looked at him and knew it was serious.

'I'm listening'.

Crowley ruffled a bit, nervous.

'Whatever it is', she got closer, 'Just say it. I know I can trust you'.

That was surprising. He had expected her to say _he_ could trust _her_. However, she knew how important to him was that the most recent revelations had not affected her faith in him.

That woman was amazing.

'Some years ago Sam and Dean decided to close the gates of Hell. One of the required rituals was to cure a demon and…', he licked his sudden dry lips, 'They captured me and almost did it'.

'That's how you met?'

'No. We already had a long story together. I had made cruel things to them, menaced, tortured and killed people they loved', he averted his eyes for a moment, 'The fact was I was the perfect _victim_ , and Sam dragged me to a church, cleaned himself through confession and started injecting his blood in me'.

'Wait', Sara frowned in thinking, 'They mentioned something like that. Dean said I shouldn't trust you and Sam answered you had changed since _the trials_ '.

'Exactly', he grabbed her hands, 'He injected me with his blood almost to the point of reverting me back to being human. He had to stop before it was completed or he would die, but it was enough for me to taste feelings, again. Suddenly I was filled with emotions I hadn't experimented even when I was alive. It came all crashing in: the realization that I was suffering, that I wanted redemption, that I was eager for love…'

She remained silent, her eyes on him.

'The trial was interrupted, but I was already hooked on it', he breathed deeply, 'It worked as an addiction. I could barely function without inputs of human blood. I would disappear from Hell and spend days hunting people to suck dry or, when guilty hit, I spent what I had with me to buy blood illegally. I would inject it and delve into the deepest feelings I could. I would watch emotional movies to improve the effect. I would cry alone in hotel rooms and feel like that was the closest to being fulfilled I would ever get'.

He stopped speaking for a moment. The most difficult part was out, and the woman in front of him had not run for the hills.

'The Winchesters kind of staged an intervention', he shrugged, 'I've done a lot to them, we had a recent partnership, I was failing them in a mission they had given me regarding that partnership because I spent more time absent than managed to do any actual work, and still they rescued me', his eyes turned pained, 'Even if their main motivation was get my help, they did more than anyone else would do for me', he touched her face with his hand, 'Anyone before you'.

Sara put her hand on his, caressing it, 'I'm glad they helped you to overcame it'.

'The addiction for blood, yes; my craving for emotions, no', he smiled, 'However, since I've met you, it's not a problem, anymore. With you I have everything I need'.

She chuckled, 'Your saying your feelings for me make you high?'

'I suppose so', he smiled back, then grew serious, 'I was worried with your reaction. You're all right with it?'

'With not finding out you had been buying blood illegally from my nurse friends for months?', she laughed at his disgusted expression, and kissed his lips, 'Thank God for small favors', she made a face, 'Should I say _Thank Chuck_? It sounds weird'.

'Call him whatever you want. He is very easy-going when he is available'.

'If the tall guys want to summon him, it means he is not much in touch with us?'

'It's complicated. Let's say he believe so much in Free Will and in the quality of the gears of his own creation he finds meddling offensive'.

'Oh', she shrugged, letting it go, 'Shall we?'

'One last thing before we go', he pulled her delicately against him, 'Thank you for being so… _yourself_ about it'.

'I guess you're praising me, but I need more details to understand the extent of my awesomeness'.

'You didn't panic at the news of what I really am. You didn't yell or accuse me'.

'First of all, what you really are is what you have been since we met'.

He grinned at her words like he rarely did, completely happy.

She caressed his beard, 'You seriously thought I'd run from the room in tears the moment some strangers said I was living with a demon?', she scoffed, 'I'm not stupid. Why run if a real demon would find me anywhere?'

'I had no idea what to expect', he chuckled, 'I didn't think anything'.

She squinted suspiciously, 'Now that is not usual'.

 _I'm too transparent to her_ , 'Don't tell Moose and Squirrel, but…', he hesitated for a moment, but caved in, 'My mother managed to… _follow_ their car and… I was talking to her just before I called you'.

'Oh!', she was excited, 'How did it go?'

'Better than expected. We had our differences in the past, but… I can't deny a strong attachment to her and…', he smiled shily, 'She said she missed me'.

'Aw!', Sara almost jumped in joy, 'Why didn't you bring her with you?!'

'They don't know she is here', he leaned his head, 'She is not really here, in fact'.

'I don't get it'.

'She's a witch'.

'Don't speak like that about-Wait. She is a real witch, isn't it?'

'Yes. So real she even has the traditional traitorous traits'.

'Congratulations for the alliteration', she teased, 'Your mom awakens the poet in you, Fergus'.

She had the sweetest eyes, and that was how he knew there was not any mocking in her words.

He sighed, 'I'm not sure what to do about it, yet'.

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but knockings were heard on the door, and it opened to reveal an embarrassed plaid-clad Sam, 'Hey…'

The couple turned to him without separating.

Crowley growled dramatically.

'Let me guess', Sara spoke, still smiling, 'Your brother wanted to check on us?'

'Yes', the tall guy answered, 'I decided to come, instead'.

'Tell Squirrel-'

'-that we're just finishing setting some things straight and are on our way'.

'Thank you', Sam said, 'We'll be waiting'.

Crowley hissed at the closing door, not missing the grin on the giant's face.

'Let's obey the FBI lumberjacks', Sara pecked his lips and separated from him to get their bags, 'The sooner we hit the road, the sooner I get to know my mother-in-law'.

He accepted the bag she gave him, 'I confess I'm relieved you believe I'm doing my best, here'.

'Of course I believe. I was there all along the way', she smiled, 'Just promise me you'll trust me with whenever I need to know, from now on', she booped his nose, 'I hate being out of the loop'.

'I promise, love'.

'And promise you're not leaving me for some younger demon'.

'Oh, dear', he chuckled, 'Not in a million years'.

'That's sensible', she pecked his lips, 'If we consider that you're more than two hundred years old, I'm already a lot younger than you', she gave him a patronizing smile and walked to the door, 'I'll get my toiletries, Highlander'.

Crowley was indignant, 'Why did they tell you details of my life?'

'Don't know. Maybe they wanted to humanize you before my eyes when they realized I was not going to change my mind about you. You ask them while we're on the road', she smirked from the open door, 'It's not like you _demons_ need much sleep, is it?'

He squinted, 'You're too smart for your own good'.

'And I'm lucky you love me'.


	9. Enjoy the Silence

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 9: Enjoy the silence**

 _Words like violence_ _  
_ _Break the silence_ _  
_ _Come crashing in_ _  
_ _Into my little world_ _  
_

 _Painful to me_ _  
_ _Pierce right through me_ _  
_ _Can't you understand?_ _  
_ _Oh my little girl_ _  
_

 _All I ever wanted_ _  
_ _All I ever needed_ _  
_ _Is here in my arms_ _  
_

 _Words are very unnecessary_ _  
_ _They can only do harm_

No one really expected Crowley to be quiet during the trip.

So, it was with no surprise that the other three people (driver, shotgun and the excited woman by his side in the backseat) received the question he threw as soon as they hit the road.

'Why the hurry, after all?', he inquired, 'Couldn't we have tea, watch some television – invest in quality time –, then sleep in real beds and travel tomorrow? Driving is not safe when the humans involved didn't have their needed rest'.

'You can have your beauty sleep', Dean answered, 'We don't mind you not talking to us'.

'I was referring to the needs of you, _total humans_ ', he sneered, then smirked, 'Thank you for acknowledging my beauty, by the way'.

'There's an astral conjunction', Sam clarified from his spot in the front seat, 'It happens tomorrow night. If we reach the bunker today, we'll have tomorrow to gather ingredients, rehearse and double check everything'.

' _Astrology_ ', Crowley scoffed, 'You're into _that_ , now'.

'That's exactly what a Scorpio would say', Dean chimed in.

Sara chuckled.

Crowley glared at her.

'It's funny', she justified her reaction, 'Scorpios, following the traditional description of the zodiacal signs, love criticizing others and even themselves to the point they can sound mean and…', she trailed off at his intensifying glare, then enlaced his arm with hers and resumed, 'Scorpios are intense people. They run the deepest and strongest feelings', she smiled adoringly at him, 'You have powerful and strong and deep feelings, Fergus. Are you a Scorpio? Because you would make a beautiful Scorpio, you know?'

'Stop that'.

'The most beautiful Scorpio of all Scorpios who have wandered the face of Earth…'

'You've made your point', he rolled his eyes, 'I've forgotten about your nerdiness'.

She grinned and kissed his cheek, he couldn't help but smile back, and they pecked lips, sealing the truce.

'Who would say?', Dean spoke, smirking at the couple through the rear mirror, 'The King of Hell fell for a woman who can shut him up'.

'I just remembered why we didn't get along, Squirrel'.

'Because you had my soul but wanted my body, too?', the oldest brother answered, 'Should I tell Sara that you wanted me by your side ruling Hell?'

This time Sam snickered and Sara threw Crowley a look that meant she was refraining from making a thousand comments about the nature of his interest in Dean Winchester.

'What's this?', he made his annoyance very clear, 'The Sassy Festival? _Everybody hates Fergus_?'

'Don't be a pouter', Dean was laughing himself.

'Thinking better, it's good you bring back such nice times', Crowley looked at Sara, 'Maybe it is the right moment to mention that these two kept me bonded in the trunk of this car'.

'It just gets kinkier and kinkier', Sara laughed.

'It was not the fun kind of bondage', he spoke directly to the brothers, 'I had to stay there far longer than it's acceptable to do to a friend'.

Dean opened his mouth to say something that probably was _we were never friends_ , but Sam shut him up with a glare.

Crowley noticed the interaction in the front seat and, as it always happened, it saddened him that the Winchesters didn't consider him anything but a circumstantial tool to their ends, while he had wished to be part of what they considered _family_.

He felt Sara getting closer and looked to see if she needed something.

She rested a hand on his, her eyes soft.

She was reminding him _she_ was there.

He kissed her hand in gratitude and she squinted in warning.

He nodded, signaling he was already bouncing back from the _lonely dog_ moment.

xxx

Some hours later, it was an unusually silent Crowley who was occupying the back seat of the Impala.

After his first attempt at a conversation turned sour, Sara easily stepped in to fill the void his subdued mood created.

His woman was really more than a bit of a nerd and, she hit it off with Sam almost immediately: while Dean drove most in silence and Crowley just observed, they talked about the salt monster in Star Trek and the use of salt against demons; they compared the real nature of vampires to what Bram Stoker wrote down in _Dracula_ ; they discussed some stories from Scandinavian Folklore, comparing what the internet said to something the younger Winchester had found in the archives of the Men of Letters.

The ex-King of Hell was content to enjoy the exchanges between the two. Sam was an empathic boy and Sara was probably the most understanding human Crowley had ever met. Their pleasure in discussing those things kind of lulled him to a calmer state of mind – what was very welcomed after the emotional rollercoaster of a day he have had.

Dean looked at him through the rear mirror from time to time, probably out of habit of keeping an eye on him, maybe suspicious of his silence. It didn't really matter the reason – Crowley made sure to do something every time their eyes met.

(If the hunter decided to play that game for the whole trip, he must be prepared: Crowley had a full range of reactions, from glares to winks in stock for him.)

When Sara asked to stop for restroom and a stretch for her legs, Dean declared excitedly how hungry he was, and they stopped at the first gas station that seemed respectable enough.

Everybody left the car and when the two people in need disappeared, Crowley supported himself on the Impala, hands in his pockets, attentively watching Sara while she walked besides Dean until they disappeared in the small building.

It was a most deserted area, and a soft wind blew.

Being there, under the twilights, was kind of beautiful.

'Crowley…'

 _Oh, yes. Almost forgot who I was here with._

'I'm not talking to you, Moose'.

He purposely didn't look at the other man, but he knew Sam enough to imagine in detail how he halted and blinked, his mind gears quickly at work.

After some moments, the hunter leaned on the car, too, mirroring him – hands on his pockets and all.

They kept silent for some moments.

Crowley could feel the urge inside himself.

It was a matter of time for him to seize the opportunity and speak his mind.

The damned boy knew him very well, and stayed there, patiently waiting.

 _Bollocks._

'She is off limits'.

The man with the mane moved, startled, 'Who? Sara?'

'Yes', Crowley threw a glare sideways, 'You better warn your brother'.

'I don't think Dean… You know… We have a lot in our hands, now…'

'Get your mind off the gutter. She surely doesn't care if you and him could be male models', now he looked directly at Sam, 'What I mean is that she is not to be affected by any of this'.

The hunter leaned his head in confusion, 'I don't think I get it'.

'I know it's a lot to ask of you to care for the existence of anyone you don't consider _family_. I know how things end when you have to choose between anything and a Winchester', Crowley went on passionately, 'But she is special. She is the best human being I have ever met. She genuinely _likes_ people. Can you believe it?!'

'Yes, I can', Sam gave a gentle smile, 'Sometimes we forget that those exist, but they do'.

'She doesn't have any powers, until today she didn't know about the supernatural, and here she is, supporting me and being friends with the kinds of you, sasquashes armed with guns who knock on respectable people's doors and tell bizarre stories about angels and demons'.

'She reacted very well to us', Sam answered, straightening himself to stand in front of him, 'I understand now that she must have sheltered you with that kind of acceptance. It changes one's frame of mind'.

'Isn't it?', Crowley calmed down at the understanding, 'I don't know what guided me to her door, but she makes everything I went through worth it. She restored my faith in humanity and, most of all, in myself as a person'.

The taller man nodded.

'Listen… Sam', Crowley breathed deeply, 'If it comes between me and her to protect, in any circumstance, pick her'.

The younger Winchester kept looking at him, not speaking for some time.

Crowley's stare didn't weaver. He wanted to make clear he meant what he said.

When Sam finally spoke, it was with a soft look, 'I approached you because I wanted to say thank you for what you did for us in the alternate universe', he made a pause to let the information sink in, 'But now I want to thank you for opening your heart to a human. Men like us don't get attached easily. We know Hell and the monsters among us, human and not human. We know dangers most people don't think are real. We see the ones we love die and, still, we fight every day to control the forces around us', Sam's eyes were pained, 'It takes guts to love in these circumstances'.

 _Yes, it does._

'I hope we can save the world again because, yes, is our world and it depends on us, but because everyone deserves a second chance. I'm glad you've made it, and I'm glad to be here with you. Maybe this time we get to see the better of us and rewrite our story', Sam made a pause, made that sweet stare he reserved just for some chosen ones and smiled, 'You're really a Hell of a guy, Crowley'.

Luckily, at that precise moment Dean and Sara reappeared in the distance, talking animatedly and cheering over their choices of food.

One moment more, and Crowley was sure they would have found him and Sam in a brotherly hug. The fondness in the hunter's eyes had gotten him off guard, and his human nature was so powerful nowadays it couldn't be contained when positive emotions were involved.

To his relief, the Winchester who approached him for some kind of reconciliation was the empathetic one, who realized quickly that conversation was essential but it didn't mean anyone must knew about it, yet.

So, when the excited duo reached them, Sam engaged Sara and Dean in some chatting over the food and Crowley rolled his eyes as if the scene was a new annoyance to be dealt with, both pretending nothing had passed between them.

Once Sara had run to help the older brother to buy provisions for them, now she was getting along with both giants.

Crowley opened the door for the woman to enter the car and noticed Sam was watching him and grinning.

He frowned in confusion for a moment, but quickly understood Moose was finding entertaining how natural it was for Crowley to help and take care of Sara.

He made sure to glare, 'We're still not on speaking terms'.

'Keep the attitude and your trip ends here', Dean menaced from his seat, while trying to juggle the junk food he had bought.

'Always the one with the brilliant ideas, Squirrel', Crowley held the door of the car open and stayed outside, 'You heard the man, Sara. Let's get out of here'.

She pulled him by the coat, 'Just come in, love. I've found some salt-free thing to distract you from your grouchiness'.

He obeyed and closed the door after him, 'Which thing?'

'It's a delicious bitter sweet cookie', she picked a kind of biscuit from a pack and made a gesture to feed him, 'I bought it because delicious, bitter and sweet remind me of you'.

'I have the right to be bitter', he accepted her offer, seizing the opportunity to nip at her fingers.

'Of course', she said, smirking.

'It's always the same thing with them', he resumed speaking, ' _Let's save the world. We're the Super Brothers. Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby…'_

'Just eat, Fergus', Sara interrupted him, 'You need more sweet than bitter, if I'm not going to join Dean in the wish to throw you out the car'.

'Am I not _delicious_ , anymore?'

'Always!'

They exchanged light kisses.

This time Dean grinned from the driver's seat, starting the car.

(Food made him happy and more tolerant.)

Sam spoke when the couple parted and everybody was munching of their food, 'You've said once that when there is a crisis your bets would be always on us'.

'Yes, _big beautiful mountains of plaid'_ , Crowley growled, knowing the effect was a bit ruined by his full mouth, 'Unfortunately, I just care for one person, and by talking to you I'm already putting her in risk'.

'Thank you for the reference, but that is not exactly true', Sara chimed in, her own mouth half full, 'I'm sure you care for yourself, what means you must add one more person to your list', she put another biscuit in his mouth for him not to answer, 'You told me stories about and have pet names for the Winchesters and the angel who lives with them, what means you have bonded with them, what makes it five people', she cleaned her lips with a napkin, 'Should I mention you may have a special something with your mother, too?'

'Yes. A very special modality of hatred'.

(He could win an Oscar for that.)

'Don't be like that', she admonished him, 'We both know it's not just hatred, anymore. Maybe it never was. Parents and children have some of the most deep and complicated bonds. It's natural to be confused about it'.

Sam was interested, 'You have… forgiven Rowena, Crowley?'

Dean was interested, too, 'You have talked about it with your… partner?'

'I'm sure we'll have lots of fun reuniting the family', Sara said, obviously protecting him from giving any answers, 'I never thought I'd have the opportunity to hear about you from someone else, Fergus, and now see where we are!'

'In the middle of nowhere, riding an antique with two hunters, going towards a bunker to meet a witch and an angel and try to summon God and his sister to fight the same archangel from two different realities?', he answered, then gave a cynical smile, 'And I had just planned to binge-watch _The Nanny_ with you this weekend'.

She pouted, 'We watch your favorites every weekend. Let me have some fun out of our usual routines!'

'That's enough', Crowley said, faking a yawn to cover the brothers' snickering, 'It's time for you to stop embarrassing me and get some rest, darling'.

'All right', a grinning Sam answered for Sara.

'Don't even try', Crowley told him, 'Your charms don't get where my bath suit goes, anymore'.

'Do I want to know?', the woman asked, then answered herself, 'Of course I want to know'.

'I'll tell you later', both men involved answered.

'I promise to find some soundtrack for that', Dean informed, 'But for now you better nap, kids. There's a long road ahead'.

Sam started getting comfortable in his seat.

'Hit it on, DJ', Sara spoke, snuggling against Crowley's black coat.

'I like her more and more', Dean said, pushing the button of the radio for some classic rock.

'Me, too', Crowley kissed the top of her head, 'Maybe we are not that different, Squirrel'.

xxx

The reunion between Rowena and Crowley had everything to be awkward, given the fact they had already met but not really, no one should know about it and Sara would be there, meeting the witch for the first time in circumstances in which Crowley didn't know how to feel about.

He could feel the trepidation when their small group descended the stairs that lead from the bunker's door to the main room.

As expected, Rowena and Castiel were standing there, waiting for them – the angel in his usual trench coat, the redhead in an elegant attire.

(Crowley gulped a knot in his throat at how similar they were, with their preference for fine clothes and impeccable appearance.)

When everybody was at eye-level, a kind of silent agreement made everybody stop and just son and mother advance towards each other.

There they stood again, face to face, just staring at each other.

Like they had done in a street, a few hours ago, many miles away.

That moment should not feel like a novelty, but it did. Being in front of each other, _really_ , made a difference.

Since they had reunited, after centuries apart, there was something about having his mother close to him that unbalanced Crowley: maybe being in a vessel brought up the physical memories of the boy he had been – a sad child who did what he could for a woman who openly declared that, if given the choice, would have preferred he didn't exist.

When given the opportunity, she abandoned him to have her dream life as a powerful witch. After that, he was abused and threw to one side to the other until he found out about demon deals; he conquered a lot through mischief and cruelty; he kind of had a family; he drank until he got sick; he died when his ten years were due and was collected by hellhounds; he was tortured until he got back as a demon; he made a successful career as King of the Crossroads.

And, when he had just started the bumpy road as King of Hell, she reappeared.

She missed the major part of his life (and death and new life), and still being in front of her took him back immediately to when he was just a boy trying to grab her skirt to not be left behind.

Those things crossed his mind while he looked into her eyes, and he realized being so human was a huge disadvantage when one needed any control over a situation that involved family.

(Sara was right. Those bonds were complicated.)

All he could think of, right now, was that he wished things had been different.

That his mother had not decided to hate him.

That he had looked for her while he still had a soul and could feel something.

That he had told her how much he wished her by his side, King of Hell or not.

That they had not fell apart thanks to their own fears and difficulties.

(Sara was more than right…)

Rowena gave a step ahead, suddenly.

It was as if she had seen everything that was going through him, and it pulled her forward.

She started trembling, suddenly, tears pooling in her eyes.

In an action that seemed brought up by sheer bravery, she advanced more and put her hands on his cheeks.

'I still can't believe it', she said in a strangled voice.

'Oh, enough of it!'

He spoke and pulled her for a tight hug.

There was no shame in showing affection.

Was there the possibility of being back-stabbed and abandoned again?

Surely.

Was it worth to bask in the feeling of his mother in his arms, even if she was pretending to have at least an ounce of love for him?

Hell, yes.

But Crowley had learned his lesson. Denial didn't take him anywhere.

When they separated, they didn't have the open expressions of happiness and enchantment one would expect, were they normal humans; however, the small smiles they exchanged, more in the eyes than in the lips, were proof enough a mending process had started.

They looked around and saw the other people in the room in different stages of shock at their emotional encounter.

Crowley, deciding to dismiss the situation, cleared his throat, put an arm around Rowena's shoulders and turned to the other woman in the room, 'Sara, this is Rowena McLeod, my mother. Mother, this is Sara, my…'

The words escaped him.

'We never had to describe us before', Sara came to his rescue, getting closer, enlacing his waist with one arm and extending the other towards the redhead to shake hands, 'We live together and we love each other'.

'Yes', Crowley agreed, 'That describes our situation perfectly'.

'Then you have all that matters', Rowena took the offered hand, 'Welcome to the family, Sara'.

He was open-mouthed at that. No sarcasm, no questions asked by his mother?

'It's an honor, Rowena', Sara answered, 'It seems I'm in good company: Fergus is a wonderful man, and I've heard about your badassery from Sam and Dean'.

'We never used the word _badassery_ ', Dean clarified.

'But we could have', Sam added.

'I suppose my son has not spoken much about me', Rowena said when they let go of the hands, 'We had harsh times'.

'He didn't, before. But since Sam and Dean appeared at our door and he could talk freely about his life, what Fergus tells makes me think you're very resourceful'.

'Don't listen to her', Crowley told Rowena, 'She makes it seem like it was a praise'.

'I know you're proud of me, Fergus', Rowena answered, then spoke to Sara, 'He is a lovely boy, deep inside'.

'Don't listen to her', he protested to Sara, 'She makes it sound as something bad'.

'No, she doesn't'/ 'No, I don't', was the response he gained from both.

'This is very nice and all, but we have things to do if you want to spend the Holidays together', Dean broke the moment, 'Cas, Crowley says he isn't fully operational. We need you to take a look'.

The angel nodded and advanced, intending to reach the ex-King of Hell. However, he soon stopped and tilted his head, analyzing the small group in front of him.

Crowley knew what the angel must be thinking.

He was surprised, too, that he had two women by his sides, acting as if they intended to shield him.

He exchanged looks with the two of them and the women stepped back almost together.

 _My girls._

He gave a step forward, and this time Castiel advanced without hesitance.

'How are you, Crowley?'

'Finally someone who asks about my well-being', he threw a glance to the Winchesters just to see they roll their eyes and the women to smirk knowingly, 'I'm doing wel-', he saw Castiel extending both his arms and he recoiled a bit, 'Whoa, Feathers. I have family in the room'.

The angel stopped, arms mid-air, 'I was told hugs are an acceptable way to express you are glad to see someone with whom you have a certain degree of intimacy', he pondered for a while, then added, 'I think we qualify', he tilted his head again, 'And I just saw you hugging your mother; thus, you are not opposed to the act'.

It took Crowley some moments to overcome the surprise.

When he did, he grinned, 'You're right. We qualify, and I'm really touchy-touchy'.

Castiel hugged him and patted his back as he had learned from the Winchesters.

When they parted, the angel frowned lightly, 'You're different'.

'The same goes for you'.

'I've been through a lot'.

'Feelings, uh?'

'Yes. Mainly feelings'.

The angel raised a hand and waited for authorization to proceed.

'That's when you hurt me?'

'I hope not', was the answer, 'But if I do, I'm sorry'.

Crowley squared his shoulders, 'Be done with it'.

Castiel touched his forehead with his fingertips.

Something revolved Crowley's inner depths. It was uncomfortable, but not really painful.

When it was over, Castiel had one of his deep frowns, but remained silent.

'So?', everybody – but Crowley – asked at once.

'He is mostly human'.

'Told you so', Crowley bragged.

'A human with strong telekinetic powers'.

'Not _that_ much', Crowley denied.

'It's like your soul is regenerating'.

'What?'

'I said you are mostly human. It means you have a soul again. And I could feel it... developing'.

Sam was fascinated, 'Have you ever seen anything like this before?'

'No', Castiel answered, 'His state is most unusual: there is demonic traces, but they are blocked by a kind of spiritual wall'.

'Like the one Death put on Sam's mind when he recovered his soul?', Dean asked.

'Yes', Castiel said, 'You told me on the phone his powers are not totally gone. Maybe there are cracks on the wall and the telekinesis comes from there', he entered interrogator mode, 'Do you feel more powerful when you do some evil action?'

'No. On the contrary – I've found easier to use my powers for small good things'.

'Such as?'

'Curing superficial wounds or bringing objects closer. _Not harmful_ objects'.

'Have you done anything out of stress or hatred?'

'It was not my intention, but it happened'.

'How did you feel?'

'Uneasy'.

'Do you have any idea of what could be blocking your demon nature?

'I know nothing, Castiel!', Crowley got annoyed, 'Haven't the boys told you I was deposited at Sara's doorstep like a child in a basket?'

'And how did you grow up in two years?', the angel looked at the Winchesters, 'Is Jack involved in this?'

'No, it's not that', Sam, always helpful, intervened, 'The point is: can we use Crowley for the invocation?'

'It would not be safe, given our lack of knowledge on his status'.

'Told you so', Crowley sing-songed.

'It could be dangerous to everyone involved'.

Crowley threw a knowing look at Sara.

'Thanks, dude', Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder, 'That's Plan B, then'.

xxx

Crowley entered the room where the couple would spend the night already whining, 'Why are you doing this to me?!'

'Close the door', Sara, who was just a few steps ahead, answered.

'I told you this would happen!'

'Close the door', she repeated.

'But you wouldn't believe me!', he went on, 'As always, Winchesters' magic worked on everyone, and here we are-'

The lights flickered off and on.

'Shh!', she cut him off, raising a hand, 'Calm down and close the door. I want some privacy to fight'.

'Yes', he got some of his senses back, turned and closed the door.

Sara licked her lips, preparing for the conversation.

Crowley stood before her, waiting.

'I'm not doing this _to you_ ', she began, 'I'm doing this because that's what I do. I help people. That's how I make sense of the world'.

He munched a bit before speaking, 'They _lied_ to us'.

'Not exactly'.

'We came here because they said I could be a part of their plan if I had my powers. I don't have my powers, and suddenly they decided to mention a Plan B – one where they need a perfectly normal human, with no powers and no sigils tattooed, to serve as bait to something bigger and conclude the magic'.

'Exactly. And I am that human'.

'Yes, you ARE THAT HUMAN!'

'Why are you yelling?'

He breathed the deepest he could and stomped his feet to deal with the despair.

It was her turn to wait.

'I have an idea', he said, 'Let's just kidnap someone for it. A child from your school would fit perfectly. The cause is honorable, and Chuck will answer to the pure soul of a child. There's that boy you mentioned who has problems with limits. What's his name again? Phillip? Andrew?'

'Fergus'.

'What?'

'That's the name of a boy who sometimes must stop and think before he misses the point by very far'.

He realized she was annoyed and being sarcastic, what always meant he was very close to losing the argument.

So, he decided to be dramatic, 'It's my fault I can't deal with the possibility of losing you?'

'I don't intend to die'.

He raised a brow, 'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions'.

She raised a brow, too, 'You would know, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, I would'.

They reached a stall, both studying their next words.

Finally, Sara sighed and spoke, 'Let's analyze the scenarios, ok?', he nodded, and she went on, 'Maybe I help them and everything ends well. No problem'.

He just waited.

'Maybe I help them but the invocation fails, or it works out but the evil archangels win anyway. In this case, everybody dies or our world is destroyed and there is nothing we can do about it'.

He just waited.

'Of course, there is the small possibility of the world being saved but some people dying in the process, and that one of those people are me', she bit her lip, 'What are the consequences, in that case?'

'I'll go in a rampage'.

'Does it mean the world gains a demon back?'

'There will be bloodlust and revenge. I'll sell my soul again just for the power to go on _Dracula mode_ over the ones who hurt you', he spoke passionately, 'Did you hear that I'm regenerating my soul? Do you know what it means?'

'Not really', she shrugged, 'Sorry, baby. I'm new to this supernatural stuff'.

As always, he calmed down at her tranquility, 'It means I've changed so much I'm reverting again to being human, no need of rituals – just by the sheer force of the things you arise in me', he caressed her face, 'If something happens to you I'll lose the only safe haven I have ever known. The only leverage. The only being I felt deeply connected to in my entire existence'.

She rested her forehead on his, 'Going Dracula on the Winchesters or on any entity won't solve anything'.

'If you're not by my side, there is nothing to be solved. The world may end. It won't matter to me'.

'Stop that', she pulled him into her arms, 'You came a long way, and I won't permit anything to get you back to that miserable place you were before'.

'You mean Hell?'

'I mean a life without love. A life of not caring for anything or anyone but your own safety', she parted enough to look at his face, 'You're not an animal that must fight for survival. You don't need claws and fangs and backstabbing, anymore', she raised a hand in an oath, 'I can't step away from this, but I promise you I'll make my best to not die. I invited you in my heart, and it would not be fair if I simply left'.

Their eyes were locked.

'Please', Crowley sniffed, 'Say something horrible'.

'What?'

'I need something to hate in you. Something to think about if the worst happens', he gulped down, 'Say something that hurts me'.

'First of all, hurting you would mean I failed with you, and I never fail – I'm the teacher, and teachers can't fail'.

Against his better judgement, he chuckled.

She smiled, 'Second, you still have some demon powers. Why would I give you something to hate about me if I'm coming back? I have some sense of self-preservation'.

He made a gesture of accepting her argument.

'Third, we have all night long to be nice to each other. Why stain something so beautiful?'

Crowley agreed wholeheartedly.

Why would it make sense to fight and be miserable when they could be happy together?

They kissed.

Long. Deep.

The way that made them lose control really fast and start opening clothes with a certain degree of violence.

They were already half naked when she managed to speak again through her panting, 'Fergus?'

'Uhm?', he never stopped the wonderful thing he was doing to her breasts.

'Do you believe in science?'

'I believe in vampires, darling. Nothing can surprise me', he straightened and pulled her close, 'Why?'

Her eyes got darker at his smooched lips and disheveled hair, 'I've read that the more sex a couple have, the stronger their connection gets'.

'It makes sense', he smiled, 'Why are you telling me this now?'

'Because maybe we should stay celibate, tonight', she pursed her lips, 'To ease the pain of separation'.

He squinted, 'You're mocking me'.

'Yeah', she grinned, pulling away to throw herself on the bed, 'Come here. Let's connect!'

He laughed and crawled over her body until they were face to face, 'I love you'.

'I love you, too, Fergus. With a passion I had never found before', she opened her legs for him to settle between them, 'I desire, I trust, I need you. I adore the whole package'.

'You're making things more difficult'.

'Don't be silly. I couldn't be easier'.

Xxx

They had a long next day, with all the extra research and rehearse to be on the safe side of a ritual no one had ever dared to do.

Crowley got specially stressed when the Winchesters and Castiel wanted him to help with some specific information on Amara's growing process and Rowena invited Sara to check the ingredients already collected and organized in a box and, for some reason, to change something for something that had to be retrieved from the bunker's most isolated room.

He was sure the women just wanted some time far from him. He wondered what kind of conversation they were having.

Not able to snoop on them, he resigned to tell the tale of how he had been _Uncle Crowley_ to The Darkness.

Xxx

When it was time to go, he observed from a corner of the room while Sam, Dean and their angel surrounded Sara and explained again the whole plan and her part on it.

He just noticed his mother had approached when she spoke, 'If you had your powers she would not be here anymore, would she?'

'Who can say? I had my powers when I wished to save Gavin, and still someone stopped me'.

Rowena smiled sadly, 'And I'd stop you again, if you tried something now'.

'Some things never change', he sighed, 'It hurt then, it hurts now. Even if I understand your reasons'.

She just nodded.

They were silent for some moments, both looking attentively at the group.

'I've learned something from the Winchesters, Fergus'.

He looked at her, curious.

'Sacrificing yourself to protect someone you love never works'.

'Now I'm intrigued', he frowned, 'They stopped doing it all the time?'

'I said _I_ have learned something, not them'.

He raised his brows in understanding.

'What I mean is that, when people love each other, they live together or die together. There is no middle term. There is no negotiation. You can't save someone who loves you by giving your life for them. They'll suffer and wish they could exchange places with you'.

Crowley turned completely to her, 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because you love Sara – it's in your eyes and in your whole being. I know it just by the way you behave towards her', her eyes hardened, 'And Sara loves you deeply'.

'Mother…'

'You must think carefully, Fergus. There's no choice you make that won't affect her'.

'Mother…', he repeated, throwing a nervous glance to the other people, 'I don't know what you intend to do but, please-'

'It is not me you should worry about', Rowena gave a step aside, 'You wanted to be loved, now you are', she gave a new step to distance herself from him, 'It's time for you to face the consequences of what you wished for'.

She spoke, turned her back to him and said some Latin words.

Crowley looked at the other people in time to see Rowena teleporting to them, Castiel touching hers and Sara's shoulder and everybody disappearing.

For some moments he didn't do anything.

He was too shocked to react.

He couldn't believe his mother had lied to him again; he couldn't believe the Winchesters and Castiel had lied to him again.

Sara's face of surprise was the last thing he had seen. Now she was gone with those traitors, in some danger they had not told him about, while he stood there, by himself, powerless.

When the initial impact was gone, he yelled, a lamp exploded and he fell to his knees.

The injustice of existence had never weighted so much on him.

When he got tired of howling aimlessly, he put his hands on his face, the first articulated word coming out, 'Why…?'

'Because I had to talk to you in private'.

Crowley heard the voice and it took him less than a second to identify it.

He got up and turned, eyes wide, 'I should have known!'


	10. Making love (out of nothing at all)

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 10: Making love (out of nothing at all)**

 _I know just how to whisper  
And I know just how to cry  
I know just where to find the answers  
And I know just how to lie  
_

 _I know just how to fake it  
And I know just how to scheme  
I know just when to face the truth  
And then I know just when to dream  
_

 _And I know the night is fading  
And I know the time's gonna fly  
And I'm never gonna tell you everything I've gotta tell you  
But I know I've gotta give it a try  
_

 _But I don't know how to leave you  
And I'll never let you fall  
And I don't know how you do it_

 _Making love out of nothing at all_

'Really?', Billy spoke calmly, arms crossed, standing by the side of the bunker's big table, 'I wonder what could have tipped me off'.

'For me to be alive, someone must have cheated Death to some extent. My mother told me you were the new Death. Thus, you must be involved someway', Crowley stood by the other side of the table and bowed his head respectfully, 'Congratulations for the promotion, by the way'.

She nodded with the lightest of smiles, 'I appreciate the sentiment, even if what happened was just the natural consequence to…', she raised her brows, '…well, the natural consequence to _Winchesters_ -related actions'.

'They are always meddling, aren't they?'

'They are always _trying_ '.

He nodded, understanding completely her annoyance at people who can't respect serious work.

Crowley touched the table with his fingertips, preparing to bring on the subject that was hanging between them, 'But I suppose Moose and Squirrel have nothing to do with my current situation'.

'No, they don't', she changed her stance to look at him intensely, 'In your case, no one bended the rules'.

'No?'

'You can't bend what is not there'.

'I don't follow', Crowley blinked in confusion, 'How the rules for afterlife, some of the strictest in all existence, have suddenly ceased to be?'

His surprise was so sincere she smiled, 'I pondered on the possibility of this being a plan of yours, but now I can see we are in the same ground'.

'A plan?!', he lost it at the accusation, 'How could I plan such things as _resuscitation_ after killing myself in front of Lucifer in an alternate reality? How could I foresee I would end up at the doorsteps of a generous and lovely woman who was, by the way, A TOTAL STRANGER TO ME?!'

'I see you still have this bad habit of yelling'.

He raised his hands in surrender, realizing she was right – Sara herself has told him similar things a thousand times, 'I'll keep my temper in check and listen to what you have to say. That's why you came, isn't it? To clarify this conundrum?'

'I intend on telling you what happened. Then, I count on your help to take the necessary measures'.

At that, Crowley pulled a chair and sat.

Whatever was happening, it was so complicated that Death herself…

 _Wait a minute._

'You _want_ my help or you _need_ it?', he asked, 'You are Death. Are you suggesting my situation escapes the tight laws of mortality to such a level you may listen to what I have to say about it?', he raised a brow, 'Isn't _that_ against the rules?'

'Your situation is one that has never come to occur before. I could have made a decision by myself, but I considered it would be interesting to hear your thoughts on the matter'.

'Thank you… I think', he managed to say.

Billy straightened and crossed her arms again, giving some steps.

Crowley knew it meant _she_ was going to approach the subject that was still hanging between them.

'Have you realized that, being you a demon, your death should not be of any concern to me?'

 _And here we go._

'Yes, but Castiel said he could feel my soul regenerating. It means I'm at least a bit under your domain', he was curious, 'He mentioned a wall blocking my demonic nature. Is that your work?'

'Yes. Spiritual walls are one of Death's most useful abilities', she placed her big eyes on him, 'The previous Death built one for Sam when he gained his soul back, to spare him some trauma'.

'And mine?', the possibilities worried him, 'Was there a trauma to be blocked?'

'Yours was made to prevent the destruction of your existence, once you had very different essences coexisting at the time of your demise', she tilted her head, 'In some way, yes, it was necessary to prevent the trauma of an inner battle'.

He frowned, a hint of the whole picture starting to come to him.

'The demon assigned to break your soul realized you had been so sordid, not self-aware and ignorant in life that, to take off the numbness, he had to restore your body and mind. He did so and, as a collateral effect of having your reason completely functional for the first time, it ended up reinforcing the essence of your soul, instead of erasing it'.

'That demon was one of my preferred torturers. He was innovative and difficult to control, but I couldn't get rid of him', Crowley projected his lower lip, 'I must have developed a bond with the guy'.

'It is perfectly possible, once forming bonds is an attribute of the soul'.

Crowley made a disgusted face, realizing where this was going.

'I think you already understand what I am saying: after your first death, your human mind – what means your conscience, your reasoning, your memories – were given back to you. Those things were part of your essence, and they kept developing inside you, searching for a moral compass to follow, as every soul craves for', she had a soft smile, 'That _self_ needed something to feel grounded'.

Billy was again looking as if she could see through him – what, in fact, she could – and he scrunched his nose, 'And what that parasite found to feed on and keep alive inside me?'

'Integrity'.

'Pardon?'

'It is the constant in you: working as a crossroads demon, then being the King of crossroads; ruling Hell; getting involved with Sam, Dean, Castiel and Bobby Singer; approaching Rowena', now Billy had almost malicious eyes, 'The search for integrity is what compels you. You need to set rules, you crave the logic of knowing what happens based on causes and effects, you search for constancy and trust'.

Crowley stared at the entity before him, the explanation finally putting things in place, 'It always felt like a _bless and curse_ situation'.

'Your humanity made you creative and interested in changing things in Hell; it was an advantage at some point of your _career,_ but turned you into an off-sider when you reached a higher position and was confronted with the other demons. They could see you didn't belong', she leaned her head, 'You were turned into an out-of-the-curve kind of demon, with some not expected behavior, thanks to the lingering human soul inside you'.

'I was a good King of Crossroads', he almost pouted.

'Yes, in that point you were the most successful businessman in all demonic world', her smile was back, 'However, wishing to be competent and recognized by good work is not a demonic trait – it's a human one'.

He made a face, 'Turning King of Hell was a mistake, then'.

'And, again, a very human one'.

He nodded, resigned.

'You had managed to suppress most of your humanity when the Winchesters, Singer and your mother, for different means but very similar reasons, unbalanced your moral compass and made you wish they had the integrity you looked for'.

Crowley stayed quiet, pondering on what she was saying.

He started setting up challenges and traps for those people, in order to evaluate their reactions and be sure he had not been wrong about them. With time, he looked up to them and wanted them close even when they failed his tests.

He was willing to help and be forgiving.

Everything to prove that…

… _I deserve to be loved._

Crowley put his hands on his face, the reality of it creating a mix of shame for being so needy, and relief for finally understanding why he had been so motivated when those people were at stake.

'And then there were the trials, and the physical process of reverting your soul', Billy went on in a soft voice, 'Sam is Lucifer's true vessel; Lucifer, even if twisted and perverse, is an archangel. Sam's blood, purified by the sincerest of confessions, was powerful enough not to give you a new soul, but to accelerate the process in yours'.

He lowered his hands to look at her.

'Everything you went through: the times you salved Castiel, the times you protected your mother, the benefits for Singer, when you trusted the Winchesters, the blood addiction itself', Billy listed, 'Everything was part of a process that took you further and further from being a demon'.

Crowley sighed.

No wonder he had been so unhappy ruling Hell.

No wonder every demon looked at him with despise – as if they could see he was not their equal.

He always felt like it meant they saw him as inferior because he didn't come from a bloodline ( _soul line_?) as Lucifer or the Knights of Hell. He considered them complete morons who could not admit a hard-working man to climb the steps to success through his talent and cunningness.

Now he understood.

They didn't care for those things. It didn't made sense to demons that someone would make efforts and prove themselves.

They didn't care if someone _deserves_ anything.

He cared because he was different from them.

'And then you sacrificed yourself', Billy resumed speaking, 'There are a few things that can redeem someone, and sacrificing is surely one of them'.

The woman gave some steps to be at the head of the table.

Crowley could feel she was approaching the main point of the conversation, and focused on her.

'If you were a demon, your death would have sent you to The Empty; however, as we have stated, you were never exactly a demon, and even less lately'.

He shrugged almost apologetically.

'Purgatory is for monsters, what you were not, either, strictly speaking'.

He nodded in agreement.

'Heaven, even with the hints of humanity and the sacrifice, was out of question…'

(They didn't have to say it, but the notion of angels receiving Crowley with open arms was ridiculous.)

'…as was Hell, for two reasons: first, there was no stable ruler, so I couldn't negotiate; second, your soul was not strong enough to face a possible second break. In fact, I wouldn't risk sending you there, with the growing soul being so unpredictable', she raised her brows, 'And that is how your case stayed with me'.

Crowley spoke sadly, 'It means I don't belong anywhere'.

His voice sounded more broken than he had expected.

To his surprise, Billy sat before him, her forearms on the table.

Her businesslike attitude calmed him a bit.

'That's what you think?'

Crowley hesitated.

He knew an ill-advised word could destroy his chances of getting any gain out of this situation.

So, he stayed silent.

'I have no idea who you are, anymore', Billy stated, 'Are you Fergus McLeod – who was a simple Scotsman tailor but could have been a well succeeded businessman –, a common and content human if given better opportunities? Or, given enough time and space, you always end up as Fergus McLeod, the brutal man who sent his soul for stupid reasons?'

His face turned pale at the possibility.

'Are you Crowley, the powerful demon who can close any deal, manipulate humans, torture and kill without mercy? Or given enough time and space, you always end up as Crowley, the demon who saves lives and sacrifices himself for the ones he loves?'

'Stop it. You're embarrassing me', he whined, 'And giving me a headache'.

'It's the least you should expect when you are involved in an identity crisis with cosmic repercussions', her eyes hardened and Billy inclined forward, 'Who are you?'

He backed away slightly, 'Am I supposed to know the answer to that question?'

'That is what I came to find out'.

Crowley gulped down, put his elbows on the table and joined his hands under his chin in deep thinking.

He needed something to guide him. Something to set things apart and put some order in his existence.

 _Well, there is one thing that straightened everything._

After centuries of existence, something said by a human woman was what shone through the darkness and confusion.

'I am who I have been since I met Sara'.

Billy stayed still for several moments.

At some point Crowley thought she was pondering on burning him alive, such was the intensity in her stare.

When she broke the silence, she did so with an unexpected grin, 'I see my choice of guardian was right on point'.

' _Guardian_?', he almost jumped on his seat, 'As in _guardian angel_?', he felt the blood running from his face, 'Wasn't it a coincidence?'

'You may call it a coincidence; I call it _Fate_ ', Billy smirked, 'And not exactly a _guardian angel_ , once she was not supposed to protect you, but to stimulate the changes in you. I can say she is your _catalyst_ '.

'How can she be my Fate and a catalyst, if catalysts accelerate things?', Crowley argued, 'You implied she was there to change me, what meant it couldn't be written; if it was not written somewhere, it can't technically qualify as _Fate_ '.

'I don't know if you are trying to extract information from me with such a rant, but you don't need to be subtle', her features relaxed, 'It was written'.

His jaw dropped, 'You're saying we were meant to be together?'

'You were supposed to meet in every possible timeline'.

'You can see every possible outcomes of any choices I do, then?', he gulped down, 'Even now?'

'That is an interesting question', Billy joined her hands on the table, 'You died in an alternate universe, in a very surprising turn of events. It blurred everything, and I had to go to great lengths to have access to previous timelines and see what exactly you had changed', she threw him a bothered look, 'Family traits are really strong – your mother messed up with a lot of things when she killed my reapers to blackmail me into bringing you back'.

Crowley smiled in a mix of affection and pride because his mother had done things for him.

If Billy was human she would have rolled her eyes, but she was able to go on without such a display, 'I found out your undefined destiny had affected someone else's'.

'Sara's'.

'Yes. The woman who should have met the man in your vessel a decade ago, but didn't for a lot of circumstances'.

Crowley stopped breathing.

He had claimed this body because the man was similar enough to Fergus McLeod, lived a life of relative luxury, had been lonely as a dog and generally difficult to get along, and this is exactly the kind of person who could have a sudden death without further investigation.

Did it mean he had prevented Sara from meeting the love of her life?

Did it mean he had destroyed her Fate even before he altered it with his death?

Did it mean he was the toxic personality he had wondered about when he woke up in her guestroom, and now he just had the proof that he didn't deserve any good thing?

Did it-

'I see you don't understand the situation', Billy interrupted his inner guilty trip, 'When you chose that vessel, you didn't change Sara's destiny. She was supposed to meet _you_ , not him', Billy pursed her lips, 'What changed everything was your death – half demon-half human, in a selfless sacrifice, in another universe. It tangled the lines of Fate and messed the records to the point they went unreadable'.

Crowley felt the color come back to his face, in fact, into a blush, 'She was supposed to meet _me_?'

'Your destinies were entwined'.

'But…', he tried to formulate his doubt, 'How was that supposed to work?'

'Every way you met had a deep impact on both of you, and it was always purely accidental', Billy explained, 'In one timeline, for example, she was trying to help a troubled student and was with him when he summoned you for a deal. In another, the Winchesters were pretending to be federal agents and interrogating her about a killing spree in her town, and you went there just to check on them about another thing. There was one in which you were waiting for Castiel in a parking lot and she approached to ask for directions'.

He smiled dreamily, picturing every situation.

Something occurred to him and he woke up from the daydream, 'I considered the possibility of killing her when we first met. If I still had any chance of being King of Hell, how would I deal with a human woman in my life?'

'The outcomes of your relationship were diverse', Billy went on, 'In some timelines you killed her to get away of her influence over you; in others, you asked her to kill you in order to end the struggle between you two; and in some you managed to reach a kind of compromising, in such bizarre terms I prefer not to mention'.

'So…', he gulped down, 'There is hope'.

'Obviously. You and her must meet and change the other's life – that was written. Your death broke the continuity, but she was the perfect choice when I had no place for you because she already had to be in your way. So, trusting you to her was almost like correcting what had been altered'.

Crowley nodded in understanding, 'You are great at your work'.

'And you have a very fine mind', she smiled, 'That is why I believe we can build together a satisfactory solution for your case'.

He stayed silent.

He understood everything and knew what she expected.

And, still, he had no idea what to do of it, because one essential element was lacking.

Crowley got off from the chair to impose himself, and spoke gravely, 'It is not fair that you ask me to make any choices, now'.

'It's against the rules to wait for the upcoming of events to make a choice'.

He froze.

That was expected – he couldn't wait to see if Sara would be back, or even what would happen to the whole world, before taking his decision.

For a moment, Crowley wished he had a plan – a _Winchester_ kind of plan – to stall Death, gain time and make a deal that could be twisted to his interests, later.

However, he was not that person, anymore.

He sighed and his posture relaxed.

Billy noticed his body language changing.

'So', he was all business, 'Let's brainstorm, partner'.

xxx

Crowley had been sitting by himself in the bunker for some time, waiting for everybody to be back.

 _Everybody._ Not even one person missing.

Things were already decided for him, in terms of choices. He had managed a quite good arrangement, and he hoped to live through it physically close to the people who had been close to his heart – what included Moose, Squirrel and his angel boyfriend, and his mother.

 _I'm thinking in terms of loving people._

 _Who would say?_

And then there was Sara.

Especially Sara.

She had the integrity he needed. If the world came to betray him again, he trusted her to be there as his reference.

If something happened to Sara the deal would have to be redone, and Crowley sincerely didn't think he would have the mental energy to even think of anything if his love was hurt or-

 _Don't go there. She will be all right._

He didn't know how much time had passed after Billy was gone, but it had been enough for him to mull over a thousand times the deal he had sealed with her.

The moment they reached the agreement had been interesting, by the way.

( _'We're not sealing it with a kiss'_ , he had said _, 'I'm invested in a monogamous relationship'._

' _As entertaining as the thought is, I don't seal deals like this. I'm not a crossroads demon, and neither are you, now'._ )

The deal seemed good enough for him. As much as he looked for holes in the agreement, he couldn't find any. However, there was no guarantee he was not missing some blind spot, after all he went through and the own nature of the deal.

He just hoped he had chosen wisely. His mother's words about Sara ( _She will be affected by any choice you make_ ) still rang in his ears.

Weren't he so anxious to know if everything was going well, Crowley would try to relax. However, relaxing was not a possibility, once he couldn't take his mind off the plausible ends of the current situation and the probable repercussions of each possibility.

He was back to torturing himself with mental scenarios.

He needed Sara more than ever.

However, one of the possible scenarios was exactly her death.

It was one of the most probable, statistically speaking, once she was the only normal human involved.

Crowley started praying for everybody's safety.

He never thought he would do it, but now he realized he would do anything that occurred to him as a positive input on the situation.

Suddenly, he realized a prayer would be directed at Chuck, and maybe he shouldn't risk distracting Chuck in such an important moment as when he was fighting archangels.

Considering, of course, that Chuck had appeared.

Maybe Amara was the one to be prayed to. He had been _Uncle Crowley_ , after all.

But did she have good memories of him?

(He tried his best, but he was not prepared to such a role. He didn't even have enough time to learn what to do and she was leaving home!)

If Amara was there and helping Chuck, it was not wise to distract her.

But what if she wasn't helping?

xxx

Crowley had already panicked and calmed down more times than he could count when the group materialized in the main room.

He got up from the chair in a second, adrenaline running through him at the sight.

His eyes found Sam supporting Dean.

Both hunters had relieved expressions, what probably meant they were all right and the world was safe.

His eyes found his mother with a cut on her forehead.

She was standing on her own with no help and had a proud expression, what probably meant she was unharmed, too, and the world was surely safe.

His eyes found Castiel, who was carrying an unconscious Sara on his arms.

Crowley stopped breathing.

The four awake people spoke together, 'She just fainted'.

xxx

Later, Crowley was sitting on his and Sara's bed in the bunker while the woman rested.

She hadn't woken up yet, but Castiel assured Crowley that she just needed some sleep. It had been Chuck himself who had said that, after telling her some words that no one else could hear and then disappearing with Amara, Michael (just one of them) and Gabriel to, in Dean' words, _have a family reunion and discuss how to deal with the Devil_.

(Yes, Lucifer was imprisoned again.)

Castiel had deposited Sara on the bed and went to the door to join the Winchesters. They would probably go to the living room to share beers and rejoice in their badassery.

(There would be some Destiel eye sex, too. That part didn't exactly interest him, for now).

Crowley noticed Rowena stayed a bit behind, hesitant on following the tall people.

She wringed her hands, opened her mouth, gave up and closed it again.

She was already turning away when he decided things should be done.

'Mother'.

The witch promptly turned back, 'Yes, Fergus?'

'I wish we could have a word'.

She exchanged glances with Team Free Will.

(It was interesting to see how close to them she had come to be.

He liked it.)

'Of course, my son'.

The door closed behind her and she sat on the edge of the bed, in front of him.

They faced each other in silence for some moments, she obviously waiting for him to lead the conversation.

'Tell me, mother', he started, 'Is everybody really whole? No one got hurt, or is possessed?'

'Everything went very fine', she raised her brows in surprise, 'Why do you ask?'

'Because you can never tell when the Winchesters are concerned', he scoffed, 'Or Lucifer, to be fair'.

Her eyes hardened, 'He is gone, at least for a while. He was badly injured by both Michaels'.

'Did he at least help against the crazy archangels?'

'He said he would, but everybody knew better. His plan was to kill the Michael who lived with him in the cage and then make some new deal with the one he had already be allied to in the alternate universe', she gave a small smile, 'Gabe tricked him into killing the alternate Michael, instead'.

' _Gabe_?'

She shrugged, 'I have a good relationship with the Trickster'.

It was his time to be surprised, but he decided not to comment. He could ask details of the Three Stooges, later, 'I'm glad you saved the world, even if you and Sam had to cross paths with the Devil again. I know it's not easy for the two of you'.

'We did what had to be done. You don't have to worry your pretty head'.

'Sorry if I care'.

Rowena rolled her eyes, but there was fondness in them.

Crowley caressed Sara's hair distractedly, his eyes on the red head, pondering on the possibilities his agreement gave him, regarding his mother.

The witch spoke, looking at Sara, 'For someone who had never dealt with the supernatural, she went very well'.

'Really?', he was proud.

'Really. She looked down Michael and scoffed at Lucifer. Not a once of fear. A great actress, if you ask me, because we were all terrified', Rowena smirked, 'She could be a good witch'.

His head snapped, 'That's an interesting idea'.

'We can talk about it when she comes around'.

He nodded and they fell silent again.

Not for much time, 'You changed, Fergus', the woman relaxed on the bed, 'I just gave you an opening for talking about the future. Isn't it a subject you'd like to bring on?'

He pouted, took off his shoes, extended his legs by the sleeping woman's side and, when considered himself comfortable, spoke, 'Did you know Billy was coming?'

'She appeared to me last night'.

'Why?'

'She wanted to make sure you were not trying a last moment stunt, like kidnapping your Juliet and disappearing on us'.

He nodded in understanding, 'Just for the records, I couldn't do it, even if I had my powers'.

'Because she had made her decision'.

'Exactly'.

Rowena smiled.

Now she was the one proud, and Crowley found hard to breathe for some moments.

She broke the silence again, 'You are not going to tell your mother? I'm curious to know what you bargained for and what you got'.

'Take my hand', he said, extending an arm towards her.

'Pardon?'

'Take it', he smiled in what he hoped was a soft way, 'Trust me'.

She hesitated.

'I can wait', he said, 'I understand completely. However, I intend for us to meet halfway, and I'm doing my part'.

Her eyes shone in understanding, and she reached out.

Their hands touched and he enlaced his fingers around her skin.

Rowena frowned, feeling every wound and cut in her body disappear, 'Curative powers?'

'Great, aren't they?'

She just nodded, shocked, 'What has she turned you into?', there was almost fear in her eyes, 'An angel?'

'No!', he was kind of offended, 'Castiel would have noticed the moment he looked at me'.

'He looked strangely at you'.

'How can you tell?'

'Fergus…'

'Stay calm. I'm quite the same creature I was before we parted ways', he joined their hands with his other one, 'I couldn't negotiate my essence, so we made decisions on how I can spend my time with quality'.

She frowned deeply, looking at their joined hands.

It took him a moment to understand what must be going through her mind.

She wanted to know what had happened, but she was moved by the fact they were holding hands.

They usually touched when one was trying to hurt the other (including emotionally) or trying to have their way: the few times she did it as a caress was to manipulate him or when she didn't have a choice; the few times he took the initiative he needed to zap them out of some danger or to force her to not turn away from him and walk proudly out of a room.

Now they were just holding hands – no subterfuges, no hidden agendas, no aggression.

They were mother and son, bolding for the first time in centuries of existence, and no curiosity over what would come to be was more important than the moment.

'Mother', he made the necessary effort to speak, 'I want you to promise me that, if I don't get possessed and turn into what Dean would elegantly put as a _douchebag_ , you won't consider the possibility of…', he had to gulp down to be able to go on, '… of leaving again'.

'That's what you want?', she blinked quickly some very human tears, 'After all we've gone through, that's all you ask?'

'There is nothing else I can ask of you but your presence', he smiled sadly, 'That is what I missed', his fingers held her hand tighter, 'I'd rather have you close to fight and then mend the horrors we say and do to each other than seeing you go away'.

'I feel a strange warmth in my chest', she whispered.

'Don't worry. It's not a disease', he shrugged, 'I'm feeling quite the same'.

Both chuckled.

Rowena got serious and sat a bit closer to him, 'You're asking me to be vulnerable, Fergus. It has hurt me, in the past. I may be the one who acts like she is possessed at the first clash of interests'.

'I know', he nodded, 'I can't undo what you went through; but I can make sure you won't be in the receiving end of my bad side, and see what happens. I can do something new, from now on, and I want to'.

'Dear Chuck', she dried her tears, 'What Death did to you?!'

Crowley smiled, kissed her hand and let it go, getting comfortable to tell his tale, 'You have no idea!'


	11. You gotta love someone

**Crowley's Top Ten**

 **Chapter 11: Bonus Track – You gotta love someone**

Author's Note 1: Thank you, everybody who read, reviewed, followed and/or favorited this. I'm glad this little story made people happy as it made me.

Author's Note 2: Yes, we have a 11th chapter in a story called _Crowley's Top Ten_ for the reason explained below.

It's Crowley.

 _You can win the fight, you can grab a piece of the sky  
You can break the rules but before you try  
You gotta love someone  
You gotta love someone_

 _You can stop the world, steal the face from the moon  
You can beat the clock, but before high noon  
You gotta love someone  
You gotta love someone_

 _You've got one life with a reason  
You need two hearts on one side  
When you stand alone and there's no one there  
To share the way it feels inside and baby_

 _You can cheat the devil and slice a piece of the sun  
Burn up the highway but before you run  
You gotta love someone  
You gotta love someone_

Sara walked out the front door of the school in a hurry.

She reached her car the fastest she could without being impolite to the crowd of colleagues, students and their relatives.

She wanted to start the too long way home as soon as possible.

No, she hasn't moved. She still lived close to work.

It's been five years since the beginning of Fergus' arrangement and, when this specific day of the year arrived, she couldn't wait to get home.

xxx

Sometimes she still got herself wondering how things could get more surprising than finding a man at her doorstep, taking him under her care and falling in love with him.

But they got more surprising since the Winchesters knocked on her door wearing suits, flashing FBI badges and telling a nonsensical story about searching for a man who they had traced there and was not _exactly a criminal_ but, well, once she insisted on not believing them anyway, was _a demon_.

That day Sara found out every supernatural tale was true (or at least based on real facts), met an Angel of the Lord and a three hundred years old real witch who was, by the way, her mother-in-law.

In the very next day she saw the legendary archangels fighting (more bickering, for starters, but then things got out of hand), found out God had a sister (and, to be sincere, she kind of liked Amara) and witnessed Lucifer try to cheat on all humanity, be tricked by Saint Gabriel (oh, well, Gabriel, _the Trickster_ ) and be imprisoned (with her humble but necessary help).

When she thought her share of surprises and plot twists had been completed, God himself approached her for a hug and some whispered words.

' _He was praying for everybody. He stopped because he was afraid he could distract me and someone would get hurt. Isn't it great character development?'_

Chuck didn't have to say who he meant.

Maybe because he was God, maybe because all Sara could think at the moment was to get back to Fergus and tell him they had succeeded, maybe because she had seen with her own eyes how much he had changed since they met (and had glimpses of how much he had changed since _forever_ ), she knew very well those words were about him.

Hearing of his worry made the reality of all she had witnessed register, and she blacked out.

xxx

When she woke up, hours later, she was sharing a bed with Fergus in the bunker.

He was spooning her, his face in her hair, an arm securely wrapped around her middle.

They were under the covers – exactly like she preferred sleeping – and she was invaded by affection.

She had turned to him, showing she was awake, and was greeted with the sweetest eyes ever.

' _It was about time', he tried to hid some of the worry, 'I was getting bored'._

' _Have you just repaid a favor taking care of me while I was delirious?'_

' _Unfortunately, you were not delirious, just unconscious from fangirling Chuck'._

' _I can't believe any of my partners in adventure used that word to describe what happened'._

' _They didn't. It was my educated guess'._

' _There's nothing educated about that'._

 _They exchanged small happy kisses._

 _When they parted, he spoke, 'I'm glad you think I'm not educated enough. It means you'll agree with my plans of living with a teacher by my side'._

He had turned serious, and that was when Sara knew he had something to tell her.

xxx

The woman parked the car in her garage and got out.

Five years later, and her heart still pounded faster when she remembered the things he told her that night.

xxx

Death herself had spoke to him, requiring his help (' _She came basically to say I'm so unique she can't figure me out by herself'_ ), and they settled for an agreement loosely based on the crossroads deals.

Fergus and Sara would be kept alive and healthy for ten years.

(He managed to include in the contract that they would get older at the same rate, what meant a lot slower than she would, normally.

And the word _healthy_ meant not just that she was free of the common cold, but that the chemical imbalances in her brain would be immediately cured.

She had been out of antidepressants since then.

The man was really good with deals.)

At the end of the ten years, depending on the _status_ of both their souls, they would gain another ten, and so on, unless:

-the parts (the couple and Death) agreed upon some change on the deal

or

-one of them fell from grace. So, Sara couldn't turn into _killer teacher_ , and Fergus should keep his path to humanity, always choosing the good side. If they failed, their souls would be taken separately to Hell.

' _Should I overthink the grades of my students? Is there a chance of my work condemning us?'_

' _I wrote down terms I knew would be of your obvious approval, love', he raised a brow, 'You are not the one expected to change'._

xxx

Until that point of his narrative, Sara was convinced Fergus had managed the most incredibly generous deal ever.

However, Billy still wanted to write down some rules on how he would spend his ten years, in terms of powers and activity.

The choice was as ironical as basing things on the crossroads contracts: the first ten years would require Crowley to be again the King of Hell.

The explanation was simple: the Under World needed some order and Death wanted the throne occupied by someone who was not stupid enough to think it was a good idea to wipe off Humanity (what excluded Lucifer and his loyalists). With the Princes and Knights of Hell all dead (damn Winchesters!), Crowley was the perfect choice for the position.

To be able to retake the throne, he gained back all of his previous powers and some new ones. Now he had not just to fight rebel demons, but to protect himself and the ones he loved from any harm that could mess with the agreement and result in an unbalance of power.

His challenge was to be the proper King of a realm not known for its goodness while keeping a regenerating good human soul.

With Sara as his support and haven, he was sure to accomplish that, and agreed to those terms with no fear or hesitation.

However, there was a rule regarding that, too.

During Spring and Summer, Crowley was free to travel between the two worlds to be with Sara as much as he wanted, counting on her soothing and levering presence to help him deal with Hell's corrupt atmosphere.

During Fall and Winter, he just could interact with her if someone else summoned him or took her to a visit underground, and those meetings couldn't last more than one clock hour nor happen more than once in a week.

Yes, the deal turned him into a kind of Persephone.

xxx

For the six months Fergus could be with Sara at their will, they lived like a married couple: they got together every night and usually the whole weekend, and managed their schedules to have free time in between work obligations.

(Time in Hell passed differently, so he was able to be a lot more productive than her in a day's work. There was one day, for example, in which Crowley averted a coup, helped the Winchesters in a hunt and went to a diplomatic meeting with Jack and Naomi.

At the same time, while Sara graded one group's essays onPoe's _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_.)

For the six months they could not live together, they counted on Castiel taking Sara to visit Hell, or on Rowena summoning her son.

xxx

Obviously, Crowley soon found a loophole in the contract.

It used the word _interact_.

So, Fergus could be in Sara's presence if she didn't see him.

She soon got used to be doing her chores at home and feel _something_. She didn't know exactly how she could be certain, but she knew it was him, invisible and in silence, there with her.

She couldn't speak to him or acknowledge his presence, so she got creative, talking to herself for him to know how things were going and what she was up to, putting on a song and singing along because she knew it would make him smile and, when the missing was too strong to keep things decent, she provided quite the… _bold_ shows for him to watch.

xxx

The contrary – Sara being invisible to Crowley – was inside the loophole, too, but a lot more difficult to accomplish.

But, again, she was creative. And they had allies.

So, there was that time when the Winchesters (Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack) stopped by for a visit and to share some news, and the angel suggested summoning Crowley for the sake of discussing things in a safe place.

Everybody knew the rules of their deal with Billy, and guessed correctly that Sara would be thrilled to be in the same room with the King of Hell in November.

(They had already met that week, what meant a new encounter was not permitted.)

She positioned herself – quite ridiculously, by the way – in the corridor just outside her living room while the men did the ritual. She gathered strength to stay behind a wall and not peek at Fergus when he appeared, risking to be in his line of sight and making him disappear before the meeting could even start.

'Hello, bo-', she could almost see him walking to the edge of the demon trap the boys insisted on drawing, in case another entity appeared, and halting with a demanding, 'Where is Sara?'

'She is all right', Jack spoke, 'Don't look for her'.

There was a tense silence, broken by Castiel, 'She is hidden from you'.

'Ah', he realized what was going on and cleared his throat to change the subject, 'Why are you here, besides helping me to mix business and pleasure?'

They explained the situation, focusing on the information they needed to exchange.

The reunion was quite productive and, when they considered it over, there was a new silence.

Sara waited, curious to what could be happening.

'May I have her closer?'

She couldn't believe the fragility of his voice.

And she couldn't believe her heart had missed a bit.

Well, she thought she would just hear him, not have the chance to share the same room.

'Of course', Castiel answered.

'We're going to the kitchen', Jack said joyfully, 'She has sweets'.

(Yes, she had: she bought things for them as soon as the boys called asking if they could stop by.)

Sam appeared suddenly by her side, pointing at her and looking, she supposed, at Crowley, 'She's here'.

'You should turn around, Castiel supplied.

'He obeyed', Sam informed her, gave a gentle nod and went away.

Sara breathed deeply and stepped in the room.

The visits were barely visible in her kitchen, occupied with the food (besides Jack's nougat, there was some sandwiches for Sam, juice for Castiel and, obviously, pie for Dean).

Standing in the middle of the room, with his back to her, was him.

The demon, ex-King of Crossroads, ex-King of Hell, current King of Hell, cunning negotiator among the realms.

Friend of the Winchesters and their allies, son of Rowena.

Crowley.

Fergus.

Sara's life-partner.

She walked slowly towards him, seizing the opportunity to be in his presence and wondering if that was how he felt when he was invisible around her, knowing she could feel him but not able to do much of anything.

His scent reached her and she breathed in it, taking care to not be too loud, so he would hear it and it could count as interaction.

Even with her care, he shivered.

To their surprise, he didn't immediately disappear.

Well, it was a matter of time. Soon the rules would be considered broken.

As if they could read the other's mind, both moved until they were face to face getting bold from their luck.

Their eyes met.

There was such longing in his it was painful to see.

She guessed the same was true for her.

Incredibly, they managed to stay there for a while, drinking in the other's appearance with no reaction that could be considered strictly _interaction_.

They had seen each other some days ago, and still it was a relief to be together again.

His eyes watered suddenly, she smiled and saw his twin smile before he disappeared.

Sara sighed.

A sudden noise was heard, and she looked at her kitchen.

There were, eyes wide, Sam and Jack.

The noise had been the taller man almost dropping a cup.

Both guys had their mouths full and it took them some moments to start explaining what had happened: Dean got nervous at the tension and rumbled something along the lines of _can't stand demon's puppy eyes_ until Castiel were done with him and, having finished his juice, zapped them away.

Sam was startled by the sudden disappearance of his hunter brother, his angel and all the pie, and that is why the cup was hit by his elbow and almost fell.

'I'm sorry it was so quick', Jack, always the sweet boy, said.

'It was worth it', Sara guaranteed, 'Thank you'.

'You're welcome', The nephilim grinned proudly of his meddling in what he must see as a romantic movie, 'I'll tell my father you sent your gratitude'.

Sam smiled.

Sara knew he loved when the boy called Castiel his father.

However, now it was clear the angel had been the one behind that 'coincidental' encounter.

She grinned.

Yes, they were cute. All of them.

xxx

Even with the arrangement being quite generous – it was like being married to someone who went away in long work trips –, things got rough, now and then.

Sara sometimes sat in that sofa that meant so much to them and cried herself to sleep after watching one of Crowley's favorite movies.

She would miss his help and ask herself _What would Fergus do?_ when she had to decorate school for some celebration.

(And then she would take a thousand photographs she just could show him when he came to visit, because Death didn't permit them to see each other even through social networks.)

She had shots of them together, too, and she would look at them and caress his face like in the movies.

She opened his part of the wardrobe to feel the scent and the texture of his clothes.

She went to play with Rosie to share some moments with one of the ladies in Fergus' life who missed him dearly.

xxx

Unfortunately – or fortunately, if you consider Crowley had a soul with feelings –, he had rough times, too.

On Spring and Summer, when he could be with her as much as they wanted, Fergus told Sara details of what he did in Hell.

It was basically Sisyphus' task: he planned, organized and went to great lengths to keep a balance between the demons' urges and the other realms' interests, just to find out there was a leak somewhere, fight it, win the battle and see it start all over again.

It was unnerving, and it would probably get worse, once his soul didn't stop growing more and more human.

To make things even more complicated, having a soul meant he was more understanding and empathetic than he should as King of Hell – to the point he had to throw some colorful menaces towards the more suspicious demons.

It felt like throwing a bone to a dog (being cruel and violent just to show he was, well, somehow, one of them).

In those moments he missed Rosie who, at least, was grateful by the time enjoyed together.

xxx

Sara knew Fergus missed human company quite often, what made him visit the Winchesters and his mother as much as possible when he couldn't be with her.

And, when they could be together, she was the one to propose they visited the gang. It always proved entertaining.

There was one time in the bunker when Crowley and Castiel reached out at the same time for the same chair for Rowena, and they frowned at each other when they realized what had happened.

The witch put her hands on her hips, waiting for them to decide who would have the honor, and the situation was solved by Jack, who moved the said chair from a distance before the two men had time to settle the question.

The red head thanked the boy and sat, grinning, baiting her eyelashes at everybody and enjoying the attentions.

Sara felt the warmth in her chest at Fergus trying to hide his fond smile at his mother's shenanigans.

He felt at home with those people and she loved being a part of it.

xxx

Castiel still didn't find the King of Hell's urge to chat non-stop less annoying, but the angel had learned to appreciate it as a tolerable sign of friendship.

One could think of it as revenge, but he seemed to believe it was his mission to watch Crowley and act like he felt responsible for that soul.

So, more often than not, Sara would receive the visit of a very professional looking man in a trench coat who reported to her the positive developments of the Hell's ruler.

xxx

Crowley obviously didn't tell Sara how much he suffered in the six months they were apart, and he didn't need to. She knew it very well; not just because she felt the same, but because his mother made sure to check on him and report everything she found out to her daughter-in-law.

Such as the times when he got pensive and kept looking at the empty spot by the side of his throne, as if he was envisioning another _chair_ in the place.

Such as the sadness in his eyes when crossroads contracts made for a loved one reached their end.

Such as the times when he sighed deeply and facepalmed to hid his frustration at some idiotic demon who couldn't get his jokes.

Such as the times when the witch entered his office and found him at his desk, in the dark, a forgotten tumbler of Craig in one hand and a distant gaze, while _I'm too busy being blue_ , _One year of Love, Me and Mrs. Jones_ or some depressing love song played in the background.

And there Fergus was, getting miserable over Sara's absence.

Feeling all the weight of being alone again.

When things got unbearable down there, her mother-in-law would usually call Sara and inform her she was summoning Fergus for _a visit_.

The witch was exceedingly happy about it (' _You just have to ask. I don't mind being your procuress'_ ), would make the ritual and get off the room, so the couple could have their privacy.

One hour was not much. They couldn't even pretend they had any morals regarding that, or any time to lose.

Luckily, the King had powers to make their clothes vanish in a second, so they could go on from there, and even have time for conversation, afterwards.

xxx

Sara inserted the key in the front door with trembling hands.

Today was March, 20th. The vernal equinox.

Spring had officially and astronomically started.

She opened the door and a grin illuminated her features.

In the big sofa was Fergus, lying down.

On him, being all feisty, were Growley and Cerberus, the puppies they had adopted last summer from Gracie's litter.

(The litter consisted of just those two babies, by the way. And the father had been an invisible dog Fergus brought with him someday and was never mentioned again.

When Castiel knew about it, he frowned and looked in astonishment at the off-spring of – now she knew – hellhounds and Belgian shepherds.

After long moments, the angel shrugged, _I suppose creating new things is part of what Crowley does_.)

Yes, Sara understood it.

Fergus – or Crowley, as sometimes even her called him – had come from unstable demon to trustful link between Hell, Earth and Heaven. He made negotiations possible, he wrote off the deals and made sure they were followed to the detail, he did damage control whenever it was necessary, and given time and space, he looked for ways to make bigger and innovative things for all realms.

She was proud of him and, surely, she could see how proud of himself he was, too. However, for the next six months, he would split his time between his metaphysical duties and his human role as her companion.

For the next six months, he would have all the time he could spare to be her lover, friend and cuddle buddy.

For the next six months, he would hug her and kiss her, they would make love, play with dogs and smile, and his soul would heal from the time spent in Hell.

Sara closed the door and the three guys in the room stopped and turned to her.

The dogs couldn't find a satisfactory way to show her _daddy was home_ , so they ran like crazy between them, inviting her to come over and see for herself.

The man got up from the sofa to meet her halfway, their lips joining delicately and then their mouths opening slowly for something more intimate, as if grabbing each other violently, as their first instinct dictated, would be overwhelming.

When they were able to separate the mouths, they hugged tightly.

He never told her of his pain, but the way he held her, as close as possible, spoke for itself.

'I know I don't have to say it…', he started, close to her ear, '…but I've missed you'.

She chuckled, 'You don't have to say it, but right now I want to hear your voice saying anything'.

'I have quite the things to say, if you'd rather hear me ranting over stupid demons and their sheer lack of capacity to follow simple orders'.

'Not yet', she parted to look into his eyes, 'I'll hear it when it's a source of pleasure for us, not the aggravating tales they still are to you'.

He just smiled, grateful for her understanding that he needed time to leave Hell behind.

More than grateful, in fact: he was _relieved_ to be back to the creature who really understood him.

She saw the emotion in his eyes and whispered, 'I missed you, too'.

He nodded fiercely, drying his eyes with his fingertips as if he should be careful with make-up.

( _Vanity_ was a sin he was very far from getting rid of.)

Sara noticed he didn't look back at her immediately, and knew he was focusing on the dogs jumping around them to keep his feelings in check.

'I have some news to you', she said, then shrugged and diverted her gaze in a calculated teasing move, 'But I don't want to show off'.

He looked at her again, realizing her playful mood, and played along, 'Please, do show off!'

Sara gave a step back, pretended an air of concentration that was a lot more than necessary and said some Latin words while moving her arms.

One of the dogs' toys hovered in the air and floated to another room, where it was followed by the excited animals.

'I knew you had it in you', Crowley praised, pecking her lips soundly.

'Your mother is a good teacher'.

'I'm surprised she is resigned to teach what she must consider _parlor tricks_ '.

'She is kind of disappointed that I won't indulge in dark magic, defy the rules and etcetera. She says it's a loss of talent', she put her hands on his shoulders just to feel them, 'But she understands my point of view'.

'Does she really?'

'She worries about us. I think she wants to have an escape route, in case things go downhill for some reason', she caressed his cheek, 'When Lucifer almost escaped, you were forced to be tough with the loyalists. Don't get me wrong, we trust you can bounce back from eventual cruelties, but there's always the possibility of the supreme bad guy being so creative he gets us unprepared'.

'I understand, love', he shrugged, 'Having at least a Plan _B_ is standard for the family'.

Sara nodded.

He frowned, 'However, I worry about you being so close to her. My mother doesn't quite catch the concept of _integrity_ '.

'She does', Sara chuckled, 'She just doesn't care'.

Crowley scoffed, 'That woman is our cross'.

'Dear Chuck, are you using Christian imagery?'

'It's as good as any other'.

'Heretic', she accused playfully, kissing him again, 'Oh, by the way, I have to call her'.

'Who?'

'Rowena'.

'Why?'

'She always wants to come over when you- _Oh_ '.

He had snapped his fingers and they were in the bedroom and naked.

'I suppose it means _no_?'

'Exactly, love', he gave her a beautiful, charming, completely happy grin, 'For now, I want to see the tricks _this_ witch can perform on me'.

She bit her lower lip, showing her hands, ' _Now_ it's time for me to show off, then'.

xxx

The first sex after months separated was usually very similar to the trysts during their time apart: not much rational words in the beginning, but soon they managed to articulate each other's names in pleas and were whispering _I love you_ 's.

Actual conversation, with her telling the news in her life and him going into detail about his adventures, would come later, when he felt purified by their time together and whatever he had to tell sounded as a harmless anecdote.

xxx

Obviously, Sara and Fergus still worried about his soul. It was resilient but fragile, and was exposed to all kinds of pressures and sins in Hell. Cultivating it for the good was a lot easier when he could be close to the creature he loved most in the world, but it was only possible half the year.

But things had been great, so far.

They still had five years before they had to renegotiate anything.

Crowley was the cunning but loyal ruler Billy believed he could be. His integrity gave what the realms needed to be in balance.

Sara, on her side, had been developing some useful magic powers and was studying the possibility to prolong her life enough to make sure her love would not lose her any soon.

It was not easy, but they could say they had the best of two worlds, for now.

They didn't know exactly where they were going to or what was going to happen next, but it was not a problem.

Fergus and Sara have learned, in different moments of their existences, that life is about never giving up, doing your best and being prepared – because you never know the wonders Fate may have in stock for you.

 _The End_


End file.
